


Papa

by Behind_The_Hood



Series: Papa Makedon Series [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: A Failed Attempt At The Sex Talk, Adoption, Affectionate Makedon, Child Abandonment, Classism, Coping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), Overprotective Laurent, Overprotective Makedon, POV Alternating, Parenthood, Pre-Canon, Prejudice, Pretend Sword Fighting, Racism, Slavery, Underage Drinking, military life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-11-23 09:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18149828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Behind_The_Hood/pseuds/Behind_The_Hood
Summary: Big blue eyes blink up at him. “I’m Laurent.”Makedon smiles and offers his hand. “Makedon.”Laurent hesitates, then gives Makedon his free hand. Normally a shake between men would result in posturing and squeezing, sizing each other up, but this is a child, and a Veretian child at that. A limp fish shake is all he gives the boy.That was the night Makedon met Laurent, and knew deep down this boy was about to change his life for the better.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! The story is finally up! It's complete, so I will be posting a chapter every Sunday. Let me know what you think!

Leather sandals hit the ground with a dull thud, sending a plume of dirt into the air around Makedon’s feet. The wreckage around him…it isn’t pretty, to say the least. A horse lies dead at the front of a broken wagon, mercenaries bodies lie strewed across the field, and flies litter the area, following the stench of death and decay.

Makedon had to ride a small ways out to find this particular encounter. His men reported they were attacked first; a volley of arrows sent their way. Veretians. Most got away, the few who didn’t now lie dead.

Based on the mercenaries’ colors, they were also Veretian. Nothing surprising, nothing fancy. Most of their weapons are subpar but in fair enough condition, had they not instigated an attack. It’s almost like they were set up to fail.

Makedon sighs, coming to stand over another body. Veretians, he would never understand them. Their twisted minds nothing more than labyrinths and their tongues daggers. A perverse and perplexing lot they are.

Makedon looks to the west at the setting sun, low in the pinking sky. It’ll be dark long before he and his men make it back to camp. He’s getting ready to set back out when he hears…something.

A sniffle? Is someone alive?

Makedon draws his sword and sends a hand signal to his men, telling them to stand ready for an attack.

He walks silently through the dirt and grass, over the bodies in his way, to the collapsed wagon.

Makedon steps up to the wagon and peeks around canvas torn by sword swings. He hears quiet cries. He comes full way round, sword posed for an attack, only to find a child, kneeling in the dirt and crying into his hands.

Makedon is at a loss. The child hasn’t noticed him yet, and appears to be unarmed. Makedon sheaths his sword and walks over to the kid.

When he’s finally noticed, the child gasps and flings himself back, hitting into the wood of the wagon. His chest is heaving with heavy breaths and his eyes are as wide as they can get. There’s a smear of dirt on his face like he hit the ground face first. He’s shaking with fear.

Makedon holds his hands up in a gesture of peace and shows he isn’t holding a weapon. The child looks no calmer for the gesture, but he isn’t running away. His coloring isn’t Veretian, all blond hair and blue eyes, but his clothing is, and it’s of a quality that only a noble would have. Not too many Veretian nobles out this way.

Makedon gets as close as he dares to—which is about until the child looks like he’ll piss his pants—then takes a knee before him. He can only assume the child is Veretian based on the bodies around him, but his age is young, and he likely doesn’t know much of the language even if it is his mother tongue.

Makedon runs a hand down his face, tugs at his close-trimmed beard, and gives the kid a once over. “How old are you?” he asks in Veretian. He knows the language well enough, living on the border as he does and fighting Veretians more often than not.

The boy takes a few moments to react, fear seizing his throat. Makedon understands. He is by no means a small man, to a child of this size he is clearly very intimidating. When the boy works up his courage, he holds up a scraped and dirty hand. Four fingers.

A child of four abandoned amongst the bodies of his countrymen on the wrong side of the border. Veretians willing to leave a child behind to spare their own hides, Makedon could spit; no care for anyone but themselves. Makedon sends a look to the heavens before settling his gaze back on the boy. He can’t just leave him here and hope they’ll come back for him. His men did a number during the fight. The Veretians are a cowardly lot, they won’t be back. At best he can hope for a message sent their way requesting the boy’s return.

But with that thought comes the realization that he’d have to keep the boy with him, should such a letter arrive.

With another sigh, it is decided. The child will return to Karthas with him. Tryphosa is going to kill him.

“What’s your name kid?”

The boy pulls his knees closer to his chest and shakes his head. Makedon knows he isn’t going to get very far if he doesn’t win some trust with the child. Luckily, he knows a tried and true trick to make any child smile.

Makedon pulls out the coin purse he keeps on his belt—useful to have should he ever come upon a passing merchant and be in need of supplies—and takes out a coin. Makedon holds it up between two fingers, making sure to have captured the child’s attention, then, with a flick of his wrist, the coin vanishes.

The boy takes in a quiet breath, enthralled. Makedon makes sure he moves slowly so he doesn’t frighten the boy, then slips the coin back between his fingers and slides the cold metal against the child’s ear. He gives a true gasp then, and flinches to the side.

With wide eyes he grabs Makedon’s wrist and inspects the coin. Then he turns to Makedon. “How did you do that?”

Makedon smiles and places the coin into the child’s hand, curling the little fingers around the piece. “Magic.”

The child stares down at his fist, a ponderous expression upon his young face. Even at that age, Makedon thinks, Veretians are trapped in their heads.

Big blue eyes blink up at him. “I’m Laurent.”

Makedon smiles and offers his hand. “Makedon.”

Laurent hesitates, then gives Makedon his free hand. Normally a shake between men would result in posturing and squeezing, sizing each other up, but this is a child, and a Veretian child at that. A limp fish shake is all he gives the boy.

That was the night Makedon met Laurent, and knew deep down this boy was about to change his life for the better.

* * *

The next day, after far too many curious looks from the soldiers around camp, Makedon set out back to Karthas—early, might he add. He couldn’t very well keep a child so close to the fighting at the border. He’d seen enough of that already.

Laurent looks much more comfortable in the breezy chiton than he had in his stuffy laces—

_“You mean I can walk around naked whenever I want?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Laurent’s eyes had lit up._

—even if he did end up putting up a fuss with the slaves about his underwear (also laced and absolutely ridiculous). Makedon found that Laurent had a gold necklace around his neck, tucked under his undershirt. Nothing particularly fancy about it; a plain, flat coin of gold on a gold chain. The coin had an A on it, but nothing to indicate why, by who, or what for.

When Makedon asked where it came from, Laurent only shrugged and said he’d always had it, without even sparing Makedon a glance. He had been too busy rubbing his new chiton against his cheek and mentioning he liked the material.

They rode out that morning. He’s returning with twenty men on early rotation and some thirty too wounded to fight, along with the more delicate slaves. They’re green and less suited to handle the blood and agony of those returning from a battlefield and seeking comfort; they’re more suited to singing during a feast or warming a bed.

The sun is high in the sky and Laurent’s shoulders are turning pink. They’re halfway there when Laurent, suddenly and loudly, announces, “I have to pee!”

Where he was previously sitting still and holding the horn of the saddle as instructed, he is now squirming and whining. There isn’t a place to go to the bathroom nearby, like a tree or bush to hide behind for privacy. Makedon is about to tell him to just hold it when Laurent looks up, eyes wide and pleading. Makedon has to tell himself Laurent is young and has a bladder the size of a peach pit.

Makedon sighs, he’s been doing that a lot lately, and pulls the reins on his stallion. Everyone behind him follows suit and watches as Makedon dismounts and pulls Laurent down after him. Laurent latches onto his hand the first chance he can, and Makedon is pulled after him, far enough away from the caravan to piss in some semblance of privacy.

Laurent lets go of his hand and pulls up the skirt of his chiton, then looks at Makedon pointedly.

Makedon raises a brow. “What?”

Laurent pouts his lip. “I can’t go with you looking.”

Then what was even the point of taking his hand to begin with? It’s through a greater power that Makedon refrains from rolling his eyes as he turns. He doesn’t see why it should matter; they’re both men, they both have dicks, they both piss the same way, who cares?

But he remains with his back turned as the child pisses behind him, and doesn’t turn back around until the little hand is gripping his own again.

“Makedon, I’m done. We can go now.” And then the little brat starts marching them back to the horse. The gall. Makedon smirks, amused.

* * *

By the time they reach Karthas, it is dark out and Laurent is very red on both his shoulders and his face, and his thighs and feet have turned pink. He was going to be miserable tomorrow.

When they dismount and the slaves and servants come out to attend to the party gathered in the courtyard, Makedon has a slave come to him and asks her to have a salved for sunburns fetched. Laurent is going to be needing a lot, and it will need to be applied promptly to keep the worst of the pain to come at bay.

Laurent tugs on Makedon’s hand while he’s instructing the servants and slaves. Makedon looks down at the child, and can’t help but think him small and delicate. He’d been cleaned and his wounds tended to when they’d reached camp; one of the younger slaves had placed a little braid into the boy’s hair. Now, his eyes were drooping, and he was struggling to remain on his feet.

“Makedon?” Laurent asks, him thumb coming to rest inside his mouth. “’M sweepy,” he mumbles around the digit.

Laurent lets go of his hand and raises it, waiting to be picked up. Makedon does so with no fuss. Laurent lays his hand on Makedon’s shoulder, curled up in his arms.

“Makedon?”

Makedon turns when he hears his name called, Tryphosa coming out with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders to protect her from the chill. She walks through the fuss in the courtyard, her eyes narrowing when they land on the child. Laurent has already passed out in his arms.

She stops before him, but her focus is on Laurent. “Husband, who is this?”

“This is Laurent. He was abandoned at the border after a skirmish yesterday.” Makedon watches as his wife gently tilts the boy’s head so she can better look at him. “He’s Veretian, but—”

“But you would never kill an innocent.” Her eyes are on him, dark as the night sky above. He is worried she will be angry and lash out, once they are alone, for bringing some child they do not know into their home. But she smiles, and pets Laurent’s hair with a caring hand. “He might stay, for now.” She turns, ready for the comfort of her bed’s embrace once more. “But do try not to get too attached, my dear. Someone will come looking for him, eventually,” she warns.

* * *

With no room prepared for him, Laurent ends up sleeping between Makedon and Tryphosa, curled up into her side and sucking his thumb. She looks absolutely charmed.

Two years of trying and failing to carry to term will do that to a wanting mother. Despite her parting words the night before, she takes to Laurent like a moth to a flame. While Makedon is busy writing a formal letter to the king requesting admittance of a ward, Tryphosa is busy teaching Laurent some Akielon phrases.

Her Veretian is not as smooth as his own, stilted, her accent thick, but she is fluent.

Laurent is a sharp child, and seems to genuinely enjoy learning Akielon. Which is good, because if he is going to become an Akielon ward, he will need to speak the language. At four, he only needs to catch up with numbers, letters, common words, and minor phrases. He will learn more naturally and with time.

“What is it you enjoy doing Laurent?” Tryphosa asks him. They are sitting on the bed while a slave is braiding her hair up and another brushes Laurent’s.

“I like to read, and pet the horses, and play with the hunting hounds, and play chess, and—”

Laurent goes on like that for a while, all while Tryphosa smiles and nods along.

Makedon finishes his letter, stamps his seal, then sends it off with a runner, expecting a response within a month or so.

The slaves help Tryphosa wrap her dress, red and trailing behind her. It compliments her dark skin well. She’s always been so beautiful, so powerful. She’s the type of woman who can bring any man to their knees.

Makedon has fallen to them for her more than once, and would happily do so again.

“Come Laurent dear. I will show you to the stables and you can meet the horses we have there.”

Laurent happily trails after Tryphosa, holding her hand and babbling about horses. The slaves had gathered some silk swaths of fabric and cut them into fours and wrapped them around his body then secured them with a sash. Until they could get a tailor to fit Laurent for some clothes, these would serve. He’s currently without shoes, however.

A child. They are caring for a child. Makedon runs a hand down his face and tugs his beard. An abandoned, Veretian child, potentially their ward. His wife has clearly already fallen in love, even though she warned him against the same. Beautiful, extraordinary, brilliant, but a hypocrite.

But she was right, and he will need to keep his distance.

* * *

Laurent has never been allowed so many freedoms before. Usually someone is always there telling him what lessons he has to attend next. Laurent enjoys learning, truly, but his tutors were all stuffy and boring.

This place though! It’s so much more fun! When Tryphosa is teaching him Akielon, she takes him out on rides or reads stories with him in the library. Though, Makedon doesn’t spend much time with him, even when Laurent asks him to play.

He asked Tryphosa about it one afternoon, and she had got sad. She said it was because Laurent didn’t share interests with Makedon. It felt like a lie, or at least partially, but Laurent took it to heart.

That’s why this afternoon, he comes out into the training yard with his new sandals strapped to his feet, a fancy pin holding his new chiton into place at his shoulder, and a determined look upon his young face.

Laurent marches straight up to Makedon and tugs his skirt tails. Makedon looks down at him. He looks as serious as he always does when he’s instructing the soldiers, straight faced and hands together behind his back. Laurent squares his shoulders.

In carefully pronounced Akielon, Laurent says, “I want to train with a sword.”

A twinkle enters Makedon’s eyes. Makedon looks over to the fort, where Tryphosa had urged Laurent out to the yard when he’d started having second thoughts, then looks back down at Laurent.

Makedon says something down at Laurent in Akielon, and Laurent flounders a little because he only caught ‘small’ and ‘sword’. His face feels hot and he hides his hands behind himself, knotting his fingers together.

“Uh…Yes…?”

Makedon laughs, head thrown back and loud. He claps a hand to Laurent’s shoulder, and Laurent tries to hold back a wince as his sunburn is aggravated. Tryphosa had warned him about this.

“Laurent,” Makedon starts again, mercifully in Veretian. “We have no swords small enough for you.”

Laurent perks up again, because that isn’t a no. “I can use your sword!”

Makedon, without a word, pulls his sword from its sheath and offers the hilt to Laurent. Laurent grasps it firmly between his hands, like he used to be told. This sword is gleaming in the sunlight, sharp, real, not like the wooden ones he used to have to practice with.

Laurent feels excitement coursing through his veins; he’s going to get to use a real sword! Then Makedon lets go. The sword falls to the ground, heavy and sudden. Laurent’s eyes are wide. He didn’t think it would be this heavy…

Laurent glances up at Makedon. He’s standing with his hands on his hips and an eyebrow raised, waiting. Laurent looks at the tip of the sword stuck in the grass and adjusts his grip on the hilt.

With a heaving breath and a lot of effort, Laurent rears back and attempts to heft the sword into the air. He falls back flat on his butt. The sword merely drags farther across the grass.

Laurent peeks up at Makedon through his bangs. The man is smiling. He offers his hand to Laurent and hoists the boy to his feet with no effort. Then he retrieves his sword and re-sheaths it. He puts his hand on Laurent’s back and turns him so he’s watching the soldiers.

“We’ll get a sword made for you. For now, watch the men, learn the technique, execute the motions.”

Laurent watches the pair closest to him. They swing, block, and jump away from each other in turns. They knock each other back with a shove of their swords.

Tryphosa comes up to stand beside Laurent while he and Makedon are watching the men. Laurent takes her hand and continues to stare, picking the man on the left and watching him more closely.

Laurent watches the motions he makes, the way his feet move as he falls back, his ankles tense before he lunges forward, his shoulders before he swings his sword, his wrists as he deflects his opponent.

Laurent can do that.

* * *

Makedon comes out to oversee his men one morning expecting to see them going over their drills, only to find them making a circle around some spectacle and shouting bets, and a healthy mix of cheering and jeering both. He is going to ream them out.

Makedon walks up to the group and his men part when they see his approach.

Like water calming after a storm, his men, one by one, go silent. Expect for the two in the middle.

“Argh!”

Makedon watches as one of his seasoned warriors raises his sword to Laurent, ready to strike him down. Laurent, however, knocks the sword clean from his hand and smacks his man into his side with his wooden sword, throwing the warrior to the ground in utter defeat.

“Ugh, you have bested me, good Ser. I am truly no…match for…” The warrior noticed Makedon at last, his eyes going wide. He clears his throat and gets to his feet. “Good morning Sir.” The warrior gives a salute and bows his head, waiting for Makedon’s verbal thrashing.

Makedon looks down at Laurent, dismissing his soldier. The boy is smiling wide. “Did you see me? I kicked his butt!”

Some of the men around the circle cough to cover their laughter.

The boy is still beaming, his peeling cheeks growing red yet again, even under his new freckles. “That’s the third one this morning! I bet I could take you!”

While his men are silent at the bravado, Makedon can only smirk. He lays a heavy hand on Laurent’s head and ruffles the blond strands. Laurent smiles and swats his hand away, positively glowing. “Maybe when you’re older and have trained with a sword for more than a few weeks.”

Laurent pouts. Makedon has grown used to seeing that look on his face when the boy doesn’t get his way. Just like Laurent is going to get used to not always getting his way. Whoever watched over this kid before spoiled him. Makedon is going to work that right out of him.

They had yet to receive a letter concerning the child, no word from Vere that a nobleman’s son had gone missing. Maybe the boy had been nothing more than a pet? The thought disgusts Makedon and he suppresses a shudder. He and Tryphosa had already discussed it; he did not wish to linger on the thought.

The boy was happy here and never mentioned the people from his life in Vere, so they thought nothing of it. He would speak of the things he was allowed to do, mostly learning. He spoke of sneaking off and worrying maids and his nannies.

Makedon thought it was all very pompous and frivolous. Very Veretian.

He places a hand on Laurent’s shoulder and guides him from the circle, giving very clear instructions for his men to start their morning drills.

Makedon sees of group of riders out in the distance, no wagons with them. They’re too far out to raise a flag yet, but they will soon.

He pulls Laurent to his side, his too big wooden sword knocking into Makedon’s leg. It was the smallest size they could find. Akielon children are simply bigger than Laurent at that age, but at least he’d grow into and out of it. It weighed down the belt Makedon had commissioned for Laurent.

Tryphosa was arriving back from the stables when the flags went up.

“Laurent, be on your best behavior.”

Laurent looks up at him, curious. “Why?”

Makedon watches the riders approach. “Because you are about to meet the king of Akielos.”

* * *

The king of Akielos? Laurent remembers reading about him. Theo-something.

Makedon’s hand is cool against Laurent’s burnt shoulder. They wait as the people on the horses approach, red flags flying.

Makedon asked that Laurent behave, and Laurent wants to make Makedon proud.

When the horses are called to a halt before them, many men with very dark skin dismount. Three of them wear leafy circlets on their heads, kind of like the one Laurent used to wear. They’re very pretty.

A man with wrinkles and a graying beard sets up to Makedon; Laurent steps a bit behind Makedon. They clasp hands, both smiling. They speak fast Akielon and even words Laurent thinks he recognizes are said so fast he doesn’t have time to fully understand them.

Another man steps up just behind the king and to his left. He’s younger, but looks a lot like the king. His son maybe? A boy barely older than Laurent steps up beside him as well, but he’s mostly watching the soldiers. Another son?

“Laurent.”

Laurent looks up at Makedon then. Best behavior. “Yes?” he asks in Akielon.

Makedon smiles. “Say hello to King Theomedes.”

Laurent tries to think back on some of the lessons he learned about meeting foreign royalty.

Laurent bows his head. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” this is said in Veretian. Laurent doesn’t know how to say most of it in Akielon yet.

The king raises a brow at him, looking wholly unimpressed. “You bow lower, boy.”

Laurent fidgets and tries bowing at the waist instead. Makedon laughs and ruffles Laurent hair while his head is still down, knocking him off balance. Laurent stutters and smacks Makedon’s hand away, glaring daggers.

“What happened to best behavior?” Laurent demands.

Makedon turns Laurent by his head and shoves him towards the fort. “Watch your mouth, and get back to your studies.”

Laurent pouts on his way back inside.

He can still hear the king and Makedon speaking as he walks away.

“You seem rather close with the boy.”

“Yeah. He grew on me,” Makedon says. “He’s a good kid.”

Laurent smiles as he goes to start his lessons for the day.

* * *

Laurent is walking around the fort after sneaking away from his tutor. He wants to see the horses before he has to go back inside. The sun is high in the sky, hot on Laurent’s burnt skin, even with all the salve the slaves keep putting on him.

His nose has broken out into freckles. Tryphosa said they look cute though, so Laurent isn’t too upset about it. He remembers always being told how beautiful his ‘ivory’ skin is, but he would rather look cute; he gets more sweet meats that way.

As he’s coming around a corner, he hears an excited “Whoa!”

Laurent peeks to see what is so amazing, and sees the little prince, Damianos, he’d been told, watching a couple of soldiers demonstrate a move for him. Then Prince Damianos pulls out his own sword, a real one, and tries it himself with a phantom opponent.

Laurent thinks about going over to talk to him, but he doesn’t think his Akielon is good enough. He’ll just look foolish when he can’t speak full sentences to the prince. Laurent remembers being a prince. It hadn’t been very fun, he always had lesson he had to attend and had to sneak off if he wanted to play. But now he wishes he was still a prince, if only so he could play with someone his own age.

“There you are!”

Busted.

“You know you still have a few more lessons before you can go play Laurent,” his tutor scolds.

She’s a kind woman, if quick tempered when he doesn’t pay attention. She sets aside time for him to play in the morning and the afternoon. Then he has all the free time he wants once his lessons for the day are over.

Much better than before. He’s even grown to like his sword lessons. He’d always hated those. He was never any good. Now he’s practically an expert!

Laurent is picked up and carried back inside. He watches over his tutor’s shoulder as Prince Damianos continues to practice with the soldiers.

* * *

“There is word out of Vere.”

Makedon looks up from the chess board. He and the king were playing a match while they waited to be called for supper.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Theomedes makes his move then settles back into his chair. “The king’s brother. Apparently he was hanged for killing the prince. The young one. He pleaded innocent but was still found guilty.”

Makedon sneers. “He killed his own nephew?”

Theomedes looks perturbed but shrugs. “Mercenaries is the story, though whether or not that’s true we’ll never know. Left the boy’s body on the borderland for the wolves. Fifty days of mourning, they said.”

“Don’t even have a body for the pyre?” Makedon tugs his beard. “Veretians. Heartless, the lot of them.”

Theomedes nods, a quiet, “Yes,” hummed under his breath.

They continue their game, but the mood is somber.

* * *

Theomedes watches the child Makedon wishes to adopt run about the training yard, trying to keep up with the laps the soldiers are running. As far as keeping pace though, he is severely lagging.

As to be expected though, the boy is four.

Tryphosa comes to stand at his side, curtsying and bowing her head in deference. “My King.”

Theomedes has known this woman for a long time. She has never been known to hold back, and he does not believe his title or blood will make her leash her mouth or thoughts around him. She’s as bad as Makedon, but thrice as pretty, and thrice as cunning.

She clears her throat. “If it would please the Exalted to know, Laurent—”

“You need not defend the child to me Tryphosa,” he halts her before she can truly get started. “I have already made my decision.”

She raises a brow. “Is that so? Would Exalted feel amiable in sharing?”

Theomedes bites back a smile. This woman… “The boy can stay. No one has come to claim him and, as long as that remains the case, he is by all rights abandoned. He belongs to the Crown, and _as_ the Crown, I would happily grant him to you.”

It’s all the technical words that will be placed on paper and given to his steward when he returns. But the boy has made Makedon let loose in a way Theomedes has never seen, and made Tryphosa smile like she never has before. The blond headed boy is a bright spot in their lives and Theomedes would be cruel to take that away.

And so long as the boy lays unclaimed, he is theirs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys...are gonna hate me. Let the angst begin!

Laurent has been training for years for this moment, and he will not let it slip him by.

“Come on!” Makedon shouts.

Laurent will not be goaded.

Makedon held true to his promise. Laurent has trained hard with the help of a few friendly and war-wise soldiers. He can beat Makedon, he knows it.

Laurent charges forward, and blocks a bash from Makedon’s shield when Makedon tries to knock him back. Laurent stumbles for only a moment before swinging his sword out for Makedon’s neck.

Makedon bends his head back to out reach the swing, falling right into Laurent’s trap.

Laurent drops and swing his foot out, sweeping Makedon’s legs out from under him.

Makedon hits the ground, hard, and grunts. Laurent puts his foot on Makedon’s chest to force him to stay down and places the tip of his sword to Makedon’s neck. “Yield.”

Makedon has a twinkle in his eyes and a smirk on his face. He sighs and closes his eyes, letting his head drop to the ground. “Alright brat, you win. I yield.”

Laurent smiles and looks at the crowd around him, cheering for his victory. He throws his hands in the air. “Yay!”

Laurent knew he could beat Makedon! Beaten by a six-year-old; that’s gotta hurt. Laurent laughs.

“Does that mean I can have a belt now?” Laurent asks as Makedon pulls himself off the ground, patting dirt off himself.

“You can have a belt once you make your first kill.”

“But you said—”

“I said when you were _older_. Not six.”

“But—”

“Laurent, you just defeated the greatest general Akielos has ever seen. Take the victory, son.”

Laurent wants to argue further, but he can’t help but preen at being called son.

Tryphosa has let Laurent call her mama ever since King Theomedes declared that she and Makedon could formally adopt Laurent. He’d been told when he first arrived that he would only be made a ward, but they surprised him with this instead.

Laurent remembers having a mommy and a daddy before, vaguely. A flash of bright blonde hair passes through his mind, a man’s frowning face. He can’t truly remember. He thinks he may have also had a brother? He can’t remember their faces.

They must not miss him though. They haven’t come looking for him.

Laurent shrugs off the sadness as Makedon picks him up and puts him on his shoulders, shouting three cheers for Laurent’s victory and announcing that griva is going to be served in his honor. That last part is not received as well as Makedon probably hoped.

* * *

“Papa! Wake up!”

A little hand is smacking at Makedon’s cheek far too early in the morning. Makedon catches Laurent’s wrist.

“Woman,” he says to Tryphosa. “Control your spawn.”

Laurent giggles and wiggles his fingers, trying to escape. “Let go of my hand Papa, we gotta go!”

Laurent’s Akielon has drastically improved since he first arrived. Boy hardly even has an accent anymore. He’s also got a large vocabulary, but the boy’s always got his nose buried in a book, so Makedon isn’t surprised by that.

Makedon releases Laurent’s hand and sits up. He stretches out his back and asks, “Where are we going exactly? At…” He looks out the window as sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s not even light out…” he groans.

Tryphosa picks Laurent up and sits him on Makedon’s lap. Her hands shake. Laurent grabs Makedon’s cheeks into his hands and brings Makedon’s face very close to his own. Laurent’s blue eyes are wide and shining with excitement.

Laurent whispers—or attempts to whisper—squishing his face against Makedon’s, “My pony’s about to be born.” Then he bites his lip and squeals.

Makedon freezes, his eyes wide. “Really?”

Laurent nods, his eyes crinkled at the edges.

“Then what are we waiting for?!” Makedon scoops Laurent into his arms and tosses him to the end of the bed. Laurent bounces and giggles, even as Makedon flings the covers off himself and onto Laurent’s head. Makedon hops off the bed, forcing more energy into his movements than he thought he had in him at this time of morning. Laurent untangles himself from the covers to follow after him, laughing loudly now.

“Ahem.”

Makedon and Laurent both look over to Tryphosa, halfway to the door. She’s holding up a piece of cloth in one of her hands and pins in the other.

She raises a brow. “You aren’t going out there naked dear.”

Makedon pouts and whispers to Laurent behind his hand, loud enough for Tryphosa to hear, “She’s no fun.”

Laurent covers his mouth with both his hands to hide his laugh. Laurent is such an easily amused child. Makedon winks at Tryphosa as he walks up to her and dresses. She kisses his cheek. She’s cold.

* * *

Makedon carries Laurent out there on his back while Laurent tells Tryphosa all about his marvelous defeat of Makedon. Again. For about the tenth time today.

Makedon adds extra juicy bits that, by how fantastical they were, could not have possibly happened. But Laurent shouts his agreements to these additional, fictitious details and adjusts the story accordingly.

Makedon shakes his head, but he’s smiling. It’s all those books the boy reads.

They settle down on the stable floor with the stable boys and the horse master, and wait as Tryphosa’s mare whinnies and whines and pushes to get the foal out of her. A present for Laurent they meant to be a surprise, until one of the stable boys blabbed to the child when he kept asking after Tryphosa’s mare and why she’d suddenly gotten fat.

Makedon had thought to punish the stable boy when he’d very clearly been told by both Tryphosa and the horse master that it was to be kept a secret, but before he could, Tryphosa had torn into him herself, and then Makedon just felt sorry for the poor kid.

But he’s recovered and back to work, and Tryphosa is more than happy to sit here with Laurent while he makes guesses about what his new pony will look like. She has a thick shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders.

Makedon and Tryphosa bred their horses together so that Laurent’s pony would be just as part of their family as Laurent himself is. He’d been so excited when he ran up to Makedon during training to thank him for the pony.

So they sit, and they wait.

When the foal finally begins to slip out an hour later, Laurent is fascinated by the sight, even when he gasps and murmurs a little, “ew,” under his breath.

Solid black, just like Makedon’s stallion, for now. Tryphosa’s dapple grey is the dominant gene, so they will have to see. Laurent immediately jumps out of Tryphosa’s lap to go pet the foal, but Makedon catches him first, planting Laurent onto his bottom between them. “He has to be cleaned and eat first Laurent.”

Laurent looks up at him then, wonder in his eyes. “How do you know it’s a boy?”

“We don’t,” Tryphosa answers. “The coat is too dark. We won’t be able to check for a week at least. The dam will be protective of her foal, and we don’t want to stress her right now. Makedon just calls all the newborns boys.”

Laurent nods as he watches his pony. Tryphosa’s mare is licking the foal clean.

Laurent’s eyes flutter and he leans against Makedon’s side, a yawn on his lips. “Can I name him?”

Makedon chuckles. Naming a pet, Makedon thinks with a scoff, very Veretian.

“Of course you can dear,” Tryphosa tells Laurent before Makedon can brush it off, stroking a strand of hair behind the boy’s ear. He gives her a look over the boy’s head. She gives one right back, daring him to argue with her.

He does not.

“Did you have one in mind?” she asks, then coughs into her hand.

Laurent shakes his head, his eyes falling closed. “Not yet,” he mumbles.

They give it another minute for the horse master to give the okay on the mare and foal’s conditions before Makedon lifts Laurent into his arms and they take him back inside. The pony won’t be walking until some time tomorrow morning at least, so Laurent has no reason to stay up any longer.

* * *

“Mama, why are they always kneeling?”

They’re in the library in the back corner where Laurent sits to play chess with Makedon and do his lessons. Tryphosa looks over at Laurent from where she sits on the couch, and sees he’s staring at the slaves waiting by the shelves. He should be paying attention to his lessons. At least he hasn’t snuck off to go play with the horses or the soldiers, as he’s prone to do.

“It is what they are taught to do when they are idle Laurent.”

“Why are they taught to do that?”

“It’s part of their training.”

“What training?”

“Their slave training.”

“Oh,” Laurent finally says.

Tryphosa watches Laurent for a moment longer, then goes back to her book when it’s clear Laurent’s finished with his questions, his eyes back down on his papers and books. Or so she thought.

“Why do they have slave training?”

So inquisitive today. Tryphosa doesn’t know if she wants to groan or laugh. She gives a mix of both and humors her boy’s questions. She tightens the shawl around her shoulders and says, “Because they are either born into it or selected for it.”

“Why were they selected?”

“Because they are beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” Laurent says as a matter of fact. “Did you have slave training?”

“No Laurent. I come from an important family. It would be a disgrace for me to be trained as a slave.”

“But why?”

She sighs and closes her book, her finger stuffed between the pages to mark her place. A tickle crawls, claws, up her throat and she gives a rough cough into her hand. A slave fetches her water without needing to be asked. “Because Laurent, that is just the way it is.”

“Why?”

“Laurent, you must study if you wish to visit the stables before lunch,” she answers instead. The slave hands her the chalice and Tryphosa sips the water slowly.

Laurent goes back to his work after that, tongue sticking out of his mouth and brows furrowed in concentration. Tryphosa doesn’t know what’s prompted these questions. He’s never wondered about the slaves before.

The questions start up again when they make their way, hand in hand, down to the stables.

“What if they don’t want to be slaves?”

“They do.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they are happy to serve their master and receive care and protection. All their needs are met in return for their obedience.”

Laurent hums and looks over the riding field, watching the high grass flowing with the wind. “How do you know?”

“How do I know what Laurent?”

Laurent looks up at her with bright blue eyes. The same color as the sky. “That they’re happy?”

An incredulous laugh slips from her lips. “Because they are.”

“But how do you know?” Laurent insists. “Have you asked?”

“Have…I asked…?” She raises a brow.

Laurent nods. “Have you asked if they’re happy?”

“I don’t need to Laurent. They are happy.”

They make it to the stables then and Laurent is sat on one of the mares, already tacked and waiting for their arrival.

Laurent has a pensive look on his face, so much like his father’s. His voice is low when he says, “You ask if I’m happy.”

* * *

“Mhmm, what did I say? Rings around the eyes. This is a grey filly. Not a black. You owe me twenty silver pieces.” Tryphosa says smugly and holds out her hand.

Makedon passes the coins with a grumble. He knew better than to take that bet, but when the filly showed no signs of changing its coat after two months, he thought it’d be a safe bet. Should’ve known better.

Laurent is giving his filly a sugar cube while Makedon and Tryphosa discuss the filly’s coat, barely paying them any mind.

The filly is far too young for Laurent to ride, but Tryphosa lets him up onto other horses to practice. Well, practice is a strong word. But he’s getting use to the feel of a horse under him, and that’s the point.

With the boy’s affinity for horses, Makedon has it in mind to train him for the races. He’ll need to talk to Tryphosa about it one day, but today is not that day; the boy is too young, no horse is fit for his size. But one day.

* * *

That day never comes.

* * *

Laurent is lying out in the sun, tanning his skin and watching the clouds when he gets the news.

He knew she was getting sick, had to lay up in bed more than she could go out some weeks, but he didn’t know she was…that she’d…

When Laurent is let into the room, he’s too late to say goodbye. Makedon is standing by Tryphosa’s bedside, her hand in his, his face blank. When Laurent comes to stand by his side, Makedon puts his other hand around Laurent’s shoulders and pulls him close.

Laurent can’t keep his eyes dry. He sniffles and blinks and tries to be strong like Makedon, but he’s hurting.

Makedon consoles him, rubbing a hand up and down Laurent’s arm. “It’s okay to cry Laurent. It’s okay to miss her. Just remember she isn’t suffering anymore.”

 _Suffering_? He hadn’t known she’d been suffering. She was always smiling when they were together.

Laurent turns into Makedon’s side and allows himself to cry. Makedon picks him up and holds him close while Laurent sobs into his neck.

“Mama…”

* * *

Makedon sends a letter to Ios to inform the Crown of Tryphosa’s death, and then they hold a funeral. Her body is carried out across Sicyon towards the hills near Patras, and laid to rest in Makedon’s family mausoleum.

Makedon and his men part ways, he and Laurent left to mourn in peace. Makedon’s uncle meets them out on the hills and welcomes them both into his home.

Once Laurent is put to bed for the night Makedon and his uncle settle at a table in his uncle’s rooms. His uncle passes him a cup of griva.

“You didn’t tell me she was sick,” he mutters into his cup.

Makedon stares into his own. “She was getting better.”

Makedon’s uncle grunts. “Women come a bronze piece a dozen. You’ll move on.”

Makedon glares into his cup, and then into his uncle’s eyes. “I’ll get over her, but I’m not moving on. This was it for me.”

His uncle frowns and refills his cup. Drunkard. “You’re only twenty-six, you’re still young. We’ll see.”

Makedon loves his uncle. But the man’s a harsh dick and doesn’t know when to hold his tongue. Makedon sips his griva and doesn’t respond.

His uncle eventually stands. He heads for his bed, a slave already curled within the sheets, and places a hand on Makedon’s shoulder. “Don’t mishear me. She was a catch; you won’t find another like her. But you still have time to settle down again.”

Makedon thinks of Laurent, his boy, and knows he doesn’t want to.

* * *

He and Laurent have to meet the men in Ios for a festival, so they stay with Makedon’s uncle for only a week before they head out. Makedon knows his things will meet him in Ios because his men are responsible, and his slaves are resourceful.

Laurent sits in front of him on the saddle, holding the reins and staring forward, unblinking.

The horse is settled at a slow gait. Makedon still worries for the boy. Laurent has spoken much since the morning they left for the border.

“Laurent,” Makedon starts. “What’s on your mind?”

Laurent shrugs his pinking shoulders.

“You can talk to me.”

Laurent looks up at Makedon and leans back until his head is pressed to Makedon’s sternum. “She isn’t coming back.”

Makedon pets the hair from Laurent’s forehead. “No. It’s just us now.”

“Is she okay?”

Makedon gives Laurent a small smile. “She’s okay.”

Laurent nods and leans back forward.

They spend a good stretch of the day silent but together. Laurent eventually falls asleep against Makedon, Laurent’s cheeks and nose developing another sunburn. And after they set up camp for the night, Makedon finds Laurent crawling into his tent and cuddling with him during the night despite the heat.

* * *

“Papa.”

Makedon is startled by Laurent’s voice. They set out for Ios only a few hours ago. Laurent’s not talking much right now, and Makedon is trying to respect that the boy needs time. Makedon had been similar when his father died.

“Yes?”

“Who’s going to teach me to ride a horse?”

Makedon huffs a laugh. At least the boy is thinking to the future and not lingering on the past. “I’ll teach you.”

Laurent looks back at him, an eyebrow raised. “But you’re busy with the soldiers.”

Makedon shrugs. “I can still teach you. I want you to learn from the best,” he jokes.

Laurent shakes his head. “Mama was better at riding than you.”

Makedon grasps his chest, jarring Laurent in his seat. “You wound me, boy. I’m a fine rider,” he defends.

Laurent laughs. “No you’re not!”

Makedon laughs and ruffles the boy’s golden locks. “You’re a brat.”

Laurent squeals and tries to shake Makedon off. He’s got a bright smile on his face. Makedon is happy to see its return.

* * *

Makedon and Laurent arrive in Ios a few days after that, and Laurent is amazed by how white everything is. All the buildings are made of marble, and it shines so bright against the setting sun that Laurent has to let go of the reins and cover his eyes. When he uses his hands to shield his eyes from the glare, he sees all the people, beautifully tan and wearing all color of chiton or dress.

It’s all so pretty!

Laurent is walked into the throne room and meets the king again. He doesn’t remember the first time he met the king, mostly. He vaguely remembers a very large man, and Makedon picking on him. He remembers the princes a little too.

The older one hadn’t seemed to like him much, and by the scowl on his face, that has not changed. The younger is standing stoic at his father’s side though, while he and Makedon kneel in deference to their king.

Once they rise however, the younger prince runs up to Makedon and bombards him with questions. Laurent feels…ignored.

He frowns as Makedon begins to answer all of the prince’s questions, a smirk on his face. Laurent steps up to Theomedes, nervous.

Theomedes looks down his nose at Laurent but crooks his finger to allow him closer.

“Um,” he says, because he doesn’t know whether or not it’s rude to ask. “Do you have a library?”

Theomedes offers a single nod.

“Can I go and read?”

Theomedes, barely, gives him a smile. Laurent smiles back and Theomedes calls over a slave. He’s guided to the library and then left to his own devises. Makedon says they have a week before the festival is to take place, so the palace would be abuzz with activity. Laurent had been asked to behave and cause no trouble for the slaves and servants running about.

So Laurent selects a book within his reach, settles onto a couch in the back, and stays there until a slave calls him for supper.

* * *

Makedon has looked up and down and torn the room apart, but he cannot find his ceremonial helmet. He doesn’t _need_ it, but it certainly completes the look of his armor. Theomedes will also have words with him if he forgoes the helmet.

If it was left at Karthas though, there isn’t exactly much he can do about that.

With a defeated huff, Makedon heads out to the field to check the preparations. He’ll see how his men are doing, make sure the servants and slaves are following their orders correctly, then go and look for Laurent.

Laurent has been an excited ball of energy since yesterday. He’s only heard of the summer festival and has not been permitted to attend with Tryphosa and himself the last two years they went, leaving Laurent behind at Karthas.

They had not thought he’d be accepted among the people of Ios, so for his safety they left him.

With the soldiers all having grown used to the boy, and some maybe even protective of him, Makedon is surer of having brought him this year. Even should Laurent find himself without Makedon, at least a soldier or two will be wandering the palace and will keep an eye out for the boy’s safety.

Theomedes informed Makedon that Laurent has a slave on his tail at all times, and that the boy seems content to stay in the library all day. Makedon had shook his head and smiled.

Makedon makes it out to the field, watching as his men decorate their horses, strap on their armor, and help with the more menial tasks too laborious for the slaves. Makedon gives the field a onceover with an approving eye when something catches his attention.

His helmet.

Makedon watches a moment longer, and sees it turn.

Curious, he walks over, and sees a small, pale skinned, freckled child wearing his helmet and shouting orders to the soldiers, his voice muffled in the too big helmet and finger pointing at things he likely cannot see.

Laurent hops onto a rock and shouts another imaginary order, one that no one follows. The boy nods anyway, as though it had been followed promptly and to a tee.

Makedon steps up behind Laurent and crosses his arms.

Laurent whips around and slams straight into Makedon’s legs, knocking the helmet askew. Laurent staggers back then fixes the helmet. He peeks up from under it, then giggles when he spots Makedon.

Makedon smirks down at the boy, then scoops Laurent up and lets the boy climb onto his shoulders. Makedon keeps a firm grip on Laurent’s shins, because sometimes the boy likes to fall back and ‘see what happens.’

Laurent sits happily on his shoulders until it is finally time for the men to gather and climb atop their horses to march.

“Alright men!” Makedon shouts.

“Alright men!” Laurent parrots.

Makedon smirks and continues on, Laurent repeating his every phrase and earning some stifled laughs or snorts from the soldiers.

Makedon feels no embarrassment when he discovers Theomedes, Kastor, and Damianos had been standing behind him the whole time, watching with varying degrees of curiosity on their faces. Laurent laughs, drops the helmet onto Makedon’s head—none too gently, might he add—and then lets himself fall backwards.

Makedon keeps his hold and Laurent continues to laugh behind him, dangling from Makedon’s shoulders.

* * *

The festival goes off without a hitch, and Makedon lets Laurent ride in front of him and wave during the parade. He absolutely beams and preens at the attention. And when the parade ends and they are free to walk to town, Makedon has to keep a firm hold of Laurent’s hand because the boy keeps trying to run off at anything that remotely catches his attention, which is everything.

Makedon buys Laurent several sweet treats, a horse figurine carved from drift wood, and a few new chitons in a shade of blue that he claims match his eye color. And in return, Makedon gets to watch Laurent’s face sour when he tries squid for the first time.

It was a very active day, and by its end, Laurent is tuckered out and has to be carried back to the horses.

Makedon calls the day a success.

* * *

Laurent is wearing one of his new chitons at the dining hall table with Makedon and the king and the princes, his necklace tucked inside the material. There are a few courtiers as well, but mostly everyone pays Laurent little mind. A slave kneels between he and Makedon and keeps their drinks filled. Laurent usually fills his own drinks back at Karthas, so he doesn’t know how to react when he reaches for the pitcher, but the slave grabs it instead.

“So Laurent,” Kastor says to him. Kastor has his elbows on the table and his fingers folded under his chin. “I hear your mother died recently. How are you feeling?”

Most people sitting nearby have gone silent, listening.

Laurent smiles. “I’m happy.”

Theomedes chokes on his drink. Makedon give a firm pat against his back.

Kastor frowns at him. “Happy?”

Laurent nods. “Papa says Mama isn’t hurting anymore. So I’m happy.”

Kastor gives a slow nod, like he isn’t sure what to do with a child’s simple logic, but he moves on and speaks to someone else all the same. Laurent finds it curious.

Damianos is staring at him. Laurent offers him a smile. Damianos gives one in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to check out the artwork guys!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laurent makes a friend. Sort of. Ish...Yay!

When Laurent turns eight, his sword training really picks up. While Makedon is busy out at the border, a few of the soldiers Laurent has grown close to spend their time training him. He’s too small to use a shield, but truthfully he seems more suited to a single sword anyway.

His mare has also grown to an acceptable size for Laurent to ride. Her flanks and muzzle have lost some of their black coat and turned grey. She’s too spritely for him to practice galloping on, but he can ride her around the round pin with the horse master as a guide. He’s waiting until she and Laurent are both older to start her war horse training, whatever that means.

Laurent’s training, however, involves a lot of falling and getting knocked into the dirt.

His butt has never been so bruised.

But he keeps training, even when his bruises turn purple, even when his sunburns sting, even when it’s raining. The soldiers don’t let him slack up, and Laurent himself steadily grows more determined to win at least once. He’d been naïve when he was younger, to believe he was truly winning fights against men trained to not lose.

He will get bigger, he will get stronger, and he will be the best.

* * *

Makedon is weary when he returns home to Karthas. The border skirmishes have only grown worse, and to top it off, Veretians are setting fires now. Any land Makedon’s men begin to take is set ablaze.

They would rather ruin the land entirely than lose it to Akielos. Wasteful. And their own people get thrown out into the streets for it. Whatever King Aleron’s plight, this is not the way to resolve his frustration.

The only good word received from Vere is of the crown prince. Prince Auguste seems keen on winning over his people through good deeds and regular visits through the kingdom. While his border duty is on the far side of Delpha, near the mountains, he at least attends to it. Makedon has never seen Kastor down here fighting.

Makedon sighs. Ever since Damianos came along, Kastor has grown angry, maybe even resentful. But the boy won’t take up hobbies and won’t court even though he’s well of age to do so. He drinks. And Makedon drinks too, so he understands it.

Kastor worries him.

“Papa!” Laurent shouts at his arrival, then is knocked onto his backside when his opponent shoves him with the flat of his blade.

Makedon shakes his head from atop his horse, a smile on his lips. “Pay attention during a fight boy! Get distracted and you die!”

Laurent gets up with a vigor and goes back to fighting. Makedon watches before Laurent is too far behind him to see, then gets his horse to the stables.

He’s been gone for two seasons. Laurent’s eighth spring has come and gone.

Laurent meets him at the stall, dirt all over the skirt pinned around his hips and necklace caught on his collarbone. He is littered in bruises and scrapes. But he’s smiling. “Papa, I’m getting really good with a sword.”

Makedon dismounts with a raised brow. “Really? I could tell by how well you hit the ground back there.”

Laurent pouts. “I wasn’t looking, I know. But I really am improving.”

Makedon looks Laurent over. He’s gathered up some muscle since the last time Makedon saw him, and he’s gotten a little tanner; the boy doesn’t tan much, he mostly burns and freckles. His hair is braided into a crown around his head, and looking utterly disarrayed.

Makedon nods, thoughtful. “But how are your studies?”

Laurent glances away then. Telling. The boy can lie through his teeth to anyone but his papa.

Makedon grabs Laurent around the shoulders and drags him into the fort. Laurent waves to the soldiers who’ve been working with him. “And what has your tutor been doing while you were playing?”

“I wasn’t playing. I was _training_ ,” Laurent defends. “And she had a baby. I held the cloths, so I got to see her give birth. It was gross, and scary. She screamed a lot, and not like she screams at me when I skip a lesson. She was crying too.”

Makedon makes a mental note to congratulate her on the child. It’s unfortunate Laurent has no children his own age to grow up with around Karthas. Any who may have been were born of slaves and sent to the capital for training.

There’s so many men crawling around here and so few women, children are not in abundance. And they shouldn’t be. This is where Akielos’ biggest independent military is trained; he doesn’t need an abundance of children running around. It just saddens his heart that Laurent tries to be older than he is.

He and his men indulge him where they can, but his boy is growing up so fast.

Makedon squeezes Laurent closer to his side.

Makedon and Laurent settle down in the library, where Laurent’s books sit untouched and collecting dust.

“Papa, when am I going to be able to go fight with you?” Laurent asks, opening one of his books.

Makedon leans back into the couch not far from him, by the window. “New recruits come in at fifteen, they head for the border at sixteen.”

“So sixteen?”

Makedon shakes his head. “New recruits, Laurent. You are not a recruit.”

Laurent smiles. “So, sooner then?”

Makedon shakes him head again. “You won’t be going to the border.”

Laurent’s smile drops. “What?”

Makedon hasn’t been home long enough to be having this conversation. He passes a hand down his face and tugs his beard. “Laurent, you are Veretian. It would be wrong to make you kill your countrymen.”

Laurent frowns. “I am _Akielon_. These are my countrymen.”

“Laurent, you know you were born in Vere.” Makedon says. “Your mother and I told you this.”

“I have lived in Akielos just as long as I have in Vere. But I don’t remember Vere. I only know of Akielos. This is my _home_ ,” Laurent stresses. His face is anguished.

“You are still Veretian in _blood_.”

“I am Akielon at _heart_.”

“Laurent, you’re—”

“I’m your _son_.”

Makedon snaps his mouth shut. This conversation has spiraled out of control. But Laurent is right. Makedon stands and come to kneel at Laurent’s side, cupping his face in both hands.

“You _are_ my son. Forgive me if I do not wish to see you hurt in a petty skirmish.”

Laurent hugs him tight around his neck and Makedon holds him close. Theomedes is right, the boy’s made him soft. But realizing it doesn’t change his feelings on the matter.

“We can talk about this again when you’re of age. For now, let me think of you as my little boy and not a young man getting ready for battle.”

Laurent nods and they stay like that for a long while.

* * *

The tutor had a girl. And one of the slaves has already begun a routine of care for the babe, so Makedon doesn’t feel terrible about sending her back to work.

Laurent pays attention during his lessons, he continues riding his mare, but his sword play begins to lag. Makedon cannot help but think it is because of their talk from the other day. He keeps up his exercises; he still runs with the soldiers before supper and goes through his drills, but he doesn’t spar anymore. Makedon has even heard him turn down offers.

Laurent can be found in the library whenever he is free. This would not be unusual, except that Laurent has gotten very quiet.

Makedon feels terrible, like he’s broken his boy. Stolen his happiness. His light.

And the worst part is that he doesn’t know how to undo it.

* * *

Theomedes sends letters asking about war strategies against Vere. He and Makedon spend months discussing the possibility.

Makedon’s men would be ready, very few are suffering from injuries and the newest recruits are fresh finished from training. But he thinks Vere may be too strong to attack outright. So they wait. But they plan. In the meantime, Makedon asks a favor of Theomedes.

* * *

Nothing comes of it. When asked about the taxes for grain and wheat trade in exchange for ore, the crown prince of Vere sends a letter discussing prices and taxes, and they come to a compromise that works best for everyone. They even use a merchant known to wander both kingdoms, even if he is Veretian.

Makedon can only think that at least one of the royals in that country has their head on straight.

* * *

Laurent wanders into Makedon’s room one morning, a large tome in his hands. He hops onto the end of Makedon’s bed, opens his book, and starts reading. Makedon watches all this from his seat at his desk. Laurent is humming quietly under his breath and kicking his feet.

Makedon leaves him to it and turns back to his reports.

The only noise in the room is the scratch of Makedon’s quill and the flip of Laurent’s pages. And the humming.

Laurent gets up an hour later and leaves. No ‘goodbye,’ no ‘I’ll be right back,’ just gone.

Makedon doesn’t have the time to spare for pondering so he settles back into his paper work. Tryphosa used to handle the care of the house while he handled the care of the soldiers. Ever since her death he has taken on both roles. It’s taxing at times; he really should consider a steward.

Laurent wanders back in, a new book in his hands, smaller, if barely. Makedon recognizes this one. It’s maps. Akielos, Vere, Vask, and Patras, broad and broken down to details. There’s a children’s version of this book; it has myths and legends surrounding particular areas that Tryphosa would read to Laurent.

But that one has a decorative cover, this one does not. It is factual, not fanciful. Why Laurent has it though is beyond Makedon. Learning the maps is not part of his curriculum as far as Makedon is aware, unless Laurent’s tutor thought to change that and never informed Makedon.

Laurent climbs on the bed, lies on his stomach, opens the book, and begins to read. He kicks his feet and hums.

Makedon can’t help but smile before returning to his own tasks.

It’s another hour and nearly time for lunch when Laurent calls out, “Papa, can you explain something to me?”

Makedon rises from his seat with a groan, his back and backside both tired from sitting at his desk for so long. He sits beside Laurent and looks to where the boy is pointing in his book. Delpha.

“Why is it called ‘Delpha/Delfeur’?”

Makedon taps the land on the map. “That is Akielon land that the Veretians stole some decades ago. We still call it Delpha even though they claim to have renamed it Delfeur.”

Laurent is frowning. “Why did they steal it? You said stealing is wrong.”

“Stealing is wrong,” Makedon agrees.

Laurent looks up at him, frown deepening. “Why can’t we just take it back?”

Makedon smiles and ruffles Laurent’s hair. “Feisty like your mother,” he jokes. “We will one day. Their kingdom grows more unstable with every attack from our men and the Vaskian bandits along their borders.”

Laurent gets up onto his knees. “What are we waiting for? If they are weak we should attack now.”

Makedon stands with a laugh, shaking his head at Laurent’s fire. “Let’s go to lunch Laurent.”

Laurent climbs down and takes Makedon’s hand.

Makedon thinks back on the book sitting at the foot of his bed. It couldn’t hurt to have Laurent study maps. Maybe even strategy. He’d need a different tutor for those lessons, but Laurent has always shown an extensive aptitude for learning, well ahead of his peers.

Or where his peers would be if he had any.

“I’ve noticed you’ve slackened with your sword training,” Makedon says, delicate with the topic that has lingered in his mind for days now.

Laurent shrugs beside him, face carefully blank. “You don’t want me to fight.”

Makedon had been afraid he’d say that. “I don’t wish you to be so eager for battle,” he corrects.

Laurent glances up at Makedon. Then he frowns, his cheeks puffing out. He’s still carrying some baby fat. “You confuse me.”

“Good.”

When Laurent looks up at him again, Makedon smirks.

“I’ve got to find some way to keep you on your toes.”

* * *

It seems to do the trick, because Laurent picks up his sword training again, though not with quiet the same vigor the men claimed he showed before. Laurent seems more intent on getting every motion perfected rather than knocking his opponent over.

It is a wise move, one Makedon would have pointed out to him once the boy grew tired of hitting the ground. Laurent is small, and lean. When he grows, even as he gains muscle, he will not gain bulk. He is built like a Veretian, not an Akielon. He will see few chances to knock his opponent over through sheer force. Laurent needs to learn to tire his enemy, wear him down.

To have at least realized it on his own is promising.

Makedon leaves him to it.

* * *

This is how Laurent meets Isander. Laurent’s own personal slave. Makedon presents the slave to Laurent, kneeling at their feet, of age with Laurent. His skin is very dark, and his hair is cut short. He is only wearing a silky loin cloth, aside from the slave collar and bracelets. He looks bigger than Laurent, taller at least; Laurent would wager he has more muscle than Isander.

Laurent can only stand there and take in the information. Makedon is smiling and clearly proud of himself, so Laurent tries to smile, says thank you, and when he leaves, Isander follows him.

Laurent goes to his room and lets Isander in after him.

Isander won’t look him in the eyes, and he tries to kneel on the floor after Laurent closes the door.

“No, don’t do that.” Isander freezes and straightens, his head dropping lower and shoulders tense. Laurent didn’t mean to frighten him. Laurent holds his hands out in front of himself like he would with an animal and lowers his voice. “Please. You don’t have to kneel.”

Isander relaxes minutely. “Thank you Master.”

Laurent doesn’t like that either. “Just Laurent is fine.”

“Yes, Master.”

Laurent sighs, but from what he understands, slave training takes years. It will take years to _undo_ as well. Makedon had to have spent a pretty large sum to get a slave so young. Surely he could not have finished his training so soon.

Whatever brought him, he is here now.

“Do you know how to play chess?” Laurent asks.

Isander shakes his head. “No, Master.”

Laurent smiles and beckons Isander to follow him. “Come, I’ll teach you.”

* * *

Laurent demands a bed be put into his room for Isander, and that his new friend cannot possibly keep up with Laurent if he is to sleep on the floor. Laurent also allows Isander to sit on the couch in the library while Laurent does his lessons, or play with the flowers in the field while Laurent has his sword training.

Isander follows Laurent around like a puppy, but the slave is smiling and preens under Laurent’s attention, so Makedon sees no reason to intrude on their bonding, even if some of his older soldiers think the boy is odd for caring so much for a slave.

Makedon wanted Laurent to have a friend, and he’s gotten exactly what he asked for. He has no right to object to such minor misgivings.

Laurent seeks Makedon out less now, however. And Makedon misses his boy. But he is growing and would have sought him out less sooner or later anyway. Best Makedon grow used to it now. Laurent wasn’t going to be his little boy forever; all Makedon can do is help him grow into a strong, honorable young man.

* * *

Isander takes to chess very quickly, and he seems fond of the horses as well, so Laurent is sure to spend his spare time either in the library so they can play chess, or out in the stables.

When he offers to let Isander ride Tryphosa’s mare though, the horse master goes red faced and scolds them both. Laurent for being too forthcoming with a slave, and Isander for breaking his training. It sets back his work with Isander significantly.

His luster in chess is lost and he won’t even enter the stables anymore, instead kneeling at the entrance—in the boiling sunlight—and waits for Laurent’s riding lesson to complete for the day, and no matter how much Laurent wants to tell Isander he can come in, Isander is clearly too scared to enter, and Laurent would never force him to do something that may get them reprimanded again.

Laurent would yell at the horse master, but it’d do no good. The man’s as stubborn as the mules they have plowing the fields. He replaced the horse master before him last year, his father, and he is an angry man. He constantly yells at the stable hands, over works the animals, and now he’s hurt Isander’s feelings. Laurent hates this man.

So Laurent complains about it to Makedon.

“Isander was crying! And he still didn’t stop!” Laurent yells, angry beyond belief. Isander sits at his side, quiet and with his head bowed low. Makedon nods across from them, a fist over his mouth and brows furrowed. He’s focused on the map between them, but he’s listening.

“I understand your anger Laurent. And you have every right to be; Isander is your slave to do with as you please. But you need to understand where he was coming from.” Makedon adjusts a troop piece on the map, then another. “You are very lenient with your slave, and those leniencies are nice, but there is certain etiquette a slave is trained to follow, and you, as his master, need to respect that. Isander should not have been so thoroughly reprimanded. You needed the situation explained to you better.”

Laurent doesn’t like that at all. “Why? Isander is mine.”

Makedon’s lips tick up at the corners. He moves the cavalry. “Isander _is_ yours. But the horse was not.”

Laurent pouts and taps his finger against the table.

Makedon moves the cavalry back.

“What if it _was_ my horse?”

Makedon smiles more. “Well, I don’t think the horse master could very well stop you from letting your own slave ride your own horse.”

Laurent smiles, realizing what conclusion Makedon had been leading him to. He hops up and slams into Makedon’s side, squeezing him. “Thanks Papa.”

Laurent runs out of Makedon’s room, Isander following at a more sedate pace behind him.

* * *

The horse master gets pissed off and leaves the stables when he sees Laurent walking Isander on his mare in the round pin.

He does not come back.

One of the most trained stable boys takes over as horse master until they can find a replacement.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the years it has become apparent that Isander isn’t treated like the other slaves. Laurent cannot make him call Laurent by name, but Isander is so clearly favored that Laurent worries for his friend sometimes. Laurent cannot say he is fluent in slave intrigue, but Isander is sensitive to other people’s feelings, and he is tense when other slaves are around them.

Laurent is not going to treat Isander any less than he already does, so he cannot think of a way to ease his friend’s worries and stress. Asking Makedon to treat the other slaves as Laurent treats Isander would simply get him a laugh and a pat to the head before Makedon dismissed him. Laurent hardly treats Isander as a slave, he’s his friend, why would he want to? But it is causing Isander problems and Laurent doesn’t know how to remedy that.

Laurent is lying on his bed, open book resting on his chest, ruining the spine, and thinking on his problem. Isander is on his own bed across the room, smaller than Laurent’s but still big enough for him to sleep on as he grows. Isander is playing a game of chess with himself on a spinning board Makedon had gotten for Laurent last year.

“Isander?” Laurent calls, eyes on the ceiling.

“Yes, Master?”

Laurent tilts his head to look over at Isander. His skin has grown darker from all the time he and Laurent spend outside, but his black eyes are as bright as the sun. He’s very beautiful, as all slaves are. “Are you happy?”

Isander smiles. “Of course, Master.”

Laurent hums, and wonders if he’d say otherwise if it were true, then returns Isander’s smile. “Tell me if something ever troubles you? You are my friend, I care for your happiness.”

“You are too kind, Master.”

Is Laurent too kind? He’d think if their positions were reversed, Laurent would like to be treated better than he treats Isander, he’d want more freedoms. But Isander is special, and receives more freedoms than any slave could ever dream to receive. If their places were reversed, Laurent would likely be sent to the block within a week’s time for being too brash, or sent to the post to be broken in physically.

Laurent swallows, thick, and turns his mind to lighter thoughts.

Makedon is in Ios on business. Business Laurent wasn’t allowed to attend. Prince Damianos, now fifteen, was supposed to be joining them for a year of training, but something had changed. Plans often do where royalty is concerned. Prince Damianos is instead being trained by the head of the Southern Akielon army. On the orders of King Theomedes, or so Makedon says.

Laurent wonders, by the tone Makedon had used when he said that, if maybe that is simply the official story. He wonders if something more is stirring within the halls of the palace in Ios.

But Laurent is too intrigued with secrets and shadows and hidden daggers. So he returns to his book about those exact things, and lives in someone else’s shoes for a few hours.

* * *

“Aleron has gone mad. To go to war with Vask? He hasn’t the numbers,” a kyros says, and Makedon is listening, truly he is. This is simply an overly boring meeting about Vere he’d rather not be attending.

Makedon speaks up, “The man clearly believes that with Vask being made of tribes and too disorderly to cooperate with one another, that he has the advantage.”

That same kyros scoffs. “It’s madness. They will rally to take down Vere—”

Makedon sighs. “No, they will not. The women of Vask may join together, but the men are too prideful and stubborn to even speak to one another, let alone the women. And the women will want to lead, again offending the men. Vere will win. Vask will call a retreat. The empress will step in after that. Nothing will be accomplished.”

Theomedes looks at Makedon, and Makedon can see he’s trying to hide an amused smile. “You seem rather knowledgeable on Vaskian warfare.”

Makedon rocks his chair on its back two legs. “Laurent has been pouring over maps. His newest fascination is Vask. He’s even learning some of the dialects.”

Prince Damianos speaks up then, leaning forward in his seat by Theomedes. The king’s right hand. “Why is he doing that?”

Makedon slams back onto the floor. “He’s a smart boy. If he isn’t out in the yard with his horse or a sword, his face is in a book.”

“And the slave?” Theomedes asks. “How has that been treating him?”

“They are inseparable,” Makedon laughs. “Anywhere Laurent goes, the slave follows, and Laurent prefers it that way. He’s very protective of the slave as well. Managed to run off my horse master within two months of owning him.”

A kyros, the oldest, clears his throat. “We are not here to gossip like the nobility. This is serious.”

Damianos cuts in; daring, considering this is his first time joining his father’s court as a serious member rather than a silent observer. “The general has made a point on the stance. Move on.”

The kyros sputters, indignant. “Exalted,” he exclaims. Complains is more like it.

Makedon is ready for this meeting to be over. The kyroi are looking for any excuse to call war with Vere. Aleron has become a pain, that much is true, but, and though Makedon is loathe to admit it, Auguste has worked tirelessly to keep some form of peace between their kingdoms.

He is still his father’s lapdog though, because he is at the front of the war with Vask.

“We should attack Vere now, while their army is fighting Vask. They could not stop us from storming their border and taking Delpha back.”

All eyes turn to Kastor, drinking his wine and acting as though he had not broken an unspoken rule amongst Akielons.

“Where’s your honor boy?” Theomedes asks. “We are men. When we take Delpha back, we will do it as warriors. We will meet on the field and we will win.”

Kastor’s lips thin and he does not look at his father.

They adjourn for the day not long after that.

* * *

Damianos seeks him out after the meeting, and they walk out to the training yard.

“I’m sorry father moved my training so I could remain here.”

Makedon waves him off. “He wishes to oversee your training for himself. Don’t blame your father for caring. I’m the same with Laurent.”

Damianos seems surprised by that. “Really?”

Makedon nods. “Laurent and I are very close. I’d drown my sorrows in griva if that boy had to leave me for a whole year.”

Damianos is quiet beside him, so Makedon glances a look. The young man has a thoughtful expression on his face. When he asks his next questions, he is clearly curious. “I thought you hated Veretians?”

Makedon isn’t used to someone not knowing how much he adores his boy. His soldiers have all welcomed Laurent into their lives as easily as he himself has. He forgets some people in the capital haven’t. “Alright, listen up and listen close.” Makedon draws them to a halt. He looks down his nose at the teen before him. “Laurent may have been born Veretian, but he is Akielon raised. Understood?”

Damianos nods, looking nervous.

“My boy has no love for Vere. Got it?”

Damianos nods. “Yes, sir.”

Makedon keeps his face dark for only a moment longer, really wringing the fear out of the prince, then smiles and claps Damianos’ arm. “Good.”

Damianos seems too scared to follow him after that, and goes elsewhere to spend his time. Makedon chuckles.

* * *

Laurent is braiding his mare’s tail. Isander is braiding her mane. She’s a spoiled girl and is loving the attention. The spots on her flank are crawling onto her stomach and starting to show up on her shoulders, most the black in her coat is fading from black to a very dark gray.

Makedon comes into the stables not long after they finish, sitting on her stall door and sharing some sweetmeats that Laurent snuck from the kitchen.

“Hi Papa!” Laurent calls.

Makedon smiles and leads his stallion into his stall, a stable boy rushing up to tend to the black beauty.

Makedon comes up to them and holds out a hand. Laurent drops a sweetmeat onto his palm with a pout. Always taking his treats, Laurent thinks with a grumble.

“What have you been up to while I’ve been gone?”

Laurent swallows another treat before answering. “I’m trying to teach my horse dressage, but she’s too excited. I think she’s better suited for racing.”

Makedon nods, because he had said as much before.

“Oh, and my strategist tutor? He had to go home. His daughter is having a baby.”

Makedon nods again, because his tutor had said as much.

“Also, I stabbed someone.”

Makedon inhales too quick and chokes on his sweetmeat, eyes wide. He beats his chest and manages to cough it up, but his voice is hoarse when he asks, “What happened?”

Laurent continues on as though Makedon hadn’t choked. “One of the soldiers said I was ready for a real blade. It’s dull, but it’s heavier than I’m used to. I swung too low and poked him.” Laurent shrugs. “It was shallow, and he was fine. He didn’t even need stitches, just a salve.”

Makedon nods, lips in a flat line and a pinch between his brows. “How did you cut him when he should be wearing armor?”

“He wasn’t wearing any. He and a few other men were wrestling.”

“Are you still using a real sword?”

Laurent nods, smiling wide. He hops off the gate and runs to where he sat the sword while he and Isander had been braiding his mare’s hair. Laurent carries it back, proud. “It’s got a real sheath and everything!”

Makedon takes it from his hands and inspects the sheath. Laurent got to pick out the leather and metal himself, a birthday present from one of the blacksmiths. She’s the only female blacksmith they have, and she’s really nice to Laurent.

Makedon nods approvingly and hands it back. “It’s fine work.”

Laurent nods too and wraps the belt back around his hips.

Makedon ruffles Laurent’s hair and starts to walk away. “Let me go check on the men, then you can regale me with tales of what all you’ve done during my absence.”

“Bye Papa,” Laurent calls after him.

* * *

Laurent and Isander are in the baths that night. Isander is washing Laurent’s hair because he claims it calms him.

“My sandals have been feeling tight lately, I think it may be time for a new pair. Are yours tight?”

“They are fine, Master.”

“A new pair then,” Laurent nods, because he has learned Isander’s tones by now. Isander wouldn’t dare to ask for anything ever, but Laurent is sure to ask anyway. It’s almost a game between them. No one can scold a master for buying his slave new sandals like they can a slave for asking.

Even when it’s just between them, the game continues.

Laurent loves games.

Isander gasps behind him.

“What is it?” Laurent turns around, suds slipping down his shoulders and forehead.

“Master, your necklace is missing,” Isander points.

Laurent’s hand reaches for his neck, and his necklace is in fact _not_ there. “We have to find it!” Laurent says, feeling frantic. He’s never been without his necklace. “Was I wearing it when we came in here? Do you remember?”

“I think so,” Isander mutters. He wrings his hands and steps out of the water. “I will check the hall.”

Laurent nods. “I’ll check the water.” Then he takes a breath and dives down. Laurent viciously scrubs his hair to get the soap out. It leaves the water murky and stings his eyes, but he swims to the bottom of the pool and looks for gold against the white tiles.

There it is.

Relief fills Laurent quickly. He grabs his necklace and swims back up. Laurent gasps a breath and calls, “Isander! I found it!” as he wipes the water off his face.

Isander comes back in, looking unnerved. “I’m sorry for not noticing sooner, Master. I wasn’t paying close enough attention. It’ll never happen again.”

Laurent laughs. “Isander, it fell off in the bath. It’s okay. The clasp just broke.” Laurent shows him the broken ends. “It’s an old necklace. I just need a new clasp placed on it.”

He’ll head to the blacksmith tomorrow. If they can’t fix it, then he’ll talk to Makedon about them making a trip to the village to see if a jeweler can fix the clasp. It shouldn’t cost him too much. It is gold though…

Laurent shrugs and gets out of the baths. He places his necklace on his chiton. “Do you want me to wash your hair?” Laurent asks.

Isander touches his hair, still dry, then shakes his head. He has special oils he has to place on his hair to keep it healthy. Isander usually washes his hair in the slave baths, but on occasion he’ll let Laurent wash his hair, like when they’ve been particularly active and it’s gotten dirty, so Laurent is always sure to ask.

Laurent is so desperate to make them as equal as he can. It’s part of why he has never placed a pin on Isander marking him as Laurent’s, even when Makedon asked if he thought about it. He swore to himself that he’d buy Isander’s freedom one day. But to do that, Isander would also need a way to care for himself. So Laurent is seeing what Isander likes most, and is looking into trades to do with Isander’s passions.

He likes horses, and animals all seem to trust him. Isander is so gentle. He reminds Laurent of storybook princesses. Laurent wonders if he’d make a good animal doctor.

Laurent wouldn’t dare to breathe a word of this to a soul right now though, for fear that Isander would be taken from him. Sold on the slave block and lost to Laurent forever.

When they are older, and no one can stop him. Mark his words. Isander will live as a free man one day.

* * *

The blacksmith isn’t able to fix the clasp. So Makedon takes them into town. Isander rides behind Laurent on Laurent’s mare, and he holds onto Laurent for dear life. Laurent’s mare is known to get too excited and nearly throw her rider off.

Laurent has hit the ground more than once.

She always comes over to check on him once he falls though, nudging him with her muzzle and snorting in his face. It never failed to make him feel a little better.

The town is small, and with it being a warmer time of year, the women are all walking bare chested. A lot of the children are kicking a ball between them and wearing skirts wrapped around their hips. A few are lying on rocks completely bare and soaking in the sun.

Laurent’s skin would be set ablaze if he did the same in this heat, soaking in salves for days after. He doesn’t burn like he used to, when he was little and his skin had first learned the kiss of the sun; he mostly freckles now, if he’s lucky he may darken a little. But the tan and freckles fade with time, replaced and renewed every day he steps outside.

The ones on his nose and shoulders seem here to stay, but even they start to dim in the winter and wet season when too many clouds are out for them to thrive.

They stop at a stable and Makedon pays the stable hand to board their horses for a few hours. Laurent holds Isander’s hand as they walk through the town; he is shy in new places and Laurent wants to comfort his friend. Makedon takes them to the jeweler.

He’s a nice man with a pretty daughter who keeps flirting with Makedon. Laurent tries to like her, but Makedon is frowning at her words and turning his body away, so Laurent figures it’s okay not to.

The jeweler says it’ll cost just a little more than Laurent brought with him, but Makedon offers to cover the rest.

“I’ll pay you back.” Laurent holds up his pinky and promises. Makedon hooks it to his own and they squeeze.

“You haven’t broken a promise yet,” Makedon says.

“And I never will,” Laurent swears. He thinks about Isander, left outside in the sun because slaves are not allowed within the jeweler’s store. He’d felt anger and shame burn within him, indignant for his friend. Now he just feels shame.

He wants to leave here quickly.

“This won’t take long. Give me thirty minutes with it, then come pick it back up.” The man smiles at them, his mustache curling with his lips. He’s going white at his temples.

Laurent nods and drops the money on the table.

Isander is surrounded by kids when they come outside, all of them bombarding him with questions. Isander’s head is ducked down and his hands are knotted together behind his back. His breathing is shallow.

Laurent is about to push them all away when Makedon steps between the children’s grabby fingers and Isander. “Alright, enough with the inquiries. Scram!” Makedon fake growls at the group, sounding like that of a lion, and all the kids scream and run off, laughing as they go.

Laurent comes up to Isander, careful not to touch him. “Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

Isander shakes his head, still staring at their feet. “No, Master.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s lying, and he isn’t visibly hurt anywhere, but his voice is small. Laurent wonders if maybe they said something. Laurent offers Isander his hand, silent support, and Isander takes it, squeezing.

* * *

Makedon watches Laurent and his slave wander the yard, talking and laughing, and wonders if Laurent’s developing a crush on the slave. He wouldn’t be the first to fall victim to a slave’s charm, and at his age it could easily be forgiven. But Laurent should know better. A slave can love their master, and a good master would hope to have their slave’s love, but it should never be the reverse.

The wise thing to do would be to have the slave sent back to the palace to renew his training, and the separation might encourage Laurent to make friends with some of the younger soldiers. But he sees Laurent place a flower in the slave’s hair and the slave smile at him, and can’t bare the thought of taking Laurent’s only friend away.

Laurent would hate him for it.

So the slave stays, and Laurent continues to be happy, and Makedon tries not to think about his son falling for someone of such a low status.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the artwork, my dudes!! It's so beautiful!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a wee bit early, for some people at least. I have storms headed my way and didn't want this delayed. So yay! Chapter is posted early!

“Ah!” Laurent cries as he swings up hard, knocking the recruit’s sword from his hand and sending it flying.

Twelve. He’s twelve. And he’s beaten a fifteen-year-old in a sparring match. Laurent’s been winning these fights more often as of late. He’s growing, slowly, and getting lanky. His feet look too big and his legs too skinny, but as quickly as he looks oddly proportioned from growth spurts, he evens back out by gaining muscle.

Laurent has thrown himself into training. His studies have lessened; he’s proven to be perfectly able of learning anything he sets his mind to. His tutor remains, waiting in the library should he ever have questions. His strategy instructor, in turn, has buckled down on Laurent’s lessons. Laurent does a lot of reading currently.

Laurent has read up on many of the wars Akielos has gone to, and the epics—fictitious but informative. His lust for battle is also sated in the play matches Makedon sets up for him. He’s still small, much too small to be a true match against most the men that serve under Makedon, but the recruits vary in sizes and level of skill; thus, Laurent can train with them.

Isander has settled into his roll as Laurent’s slave very well, and the other slaves have adjusted to Laurent’s favoritism. Laurent very rarely interacts with the other slaves and Isander never leaves Laurent’s side; they have no reason to feel threatened by Isander, and have moved on.

Isander grows more beautiful with each year they age, and Laurent adores him, loves him, but he finds himself drawn to…the stronger men, the more rugged men. They’re cute, in a manly way.

Laurent doesn’t think he’s unattractive, and Isander on more than one occasion has gushed over Laurent’s looks. Yet still, he feels inadequate. Too small. Too young. Too… _Veretian_.

He’s seen the way some of the new recruits look at him. With disgust in their eyes. They came to kill Veretians, and to have one walk amongst them, with a higher status than them, with more skill than some; they loathe his presence.

Makedon oversees the sparring matches. Laurent remembers a few months ago, coming to the library, tears in his eyes and hoping to read away his sorrows with Isander and his comforting arms, when he’d bumped into Makedon.

He’d asked what troubled Laurent, a hand under his chin so Laurent couldn’t hide his eyes, his tears.

Laurent had bitten his lip then confessed that he’d told one of the recruits that he thought he was cute.

Makedon had frowned, and asked why that made Laurent cry.

Laurent said the recruit had shoved him away and spat at his feet, saying he wanted nothing to do with Veretian filth.

Isander had stood shocked by Laurent’s side before leading Laurent back into the fort, away from the recruits laughing at their backs.

Now, Laurent listens to the soldiers cheer around them, to coins being passed between hands at his victory. Makedon has his arms crossed over his bare chest and is smirking, watching the recruit collect his sword and head to the back of the circle. Once a week they do this. Makedon had said it was to let Laurent vent his anger, and to improve his combat techniques, but Laurent is certain Makedon is also amused watching the recruits get their butts handed to them by a ‘Veretian’.

Laurent will admit it makes him feel a little better.

Laurent never told Makedon who said it, and Laurent avoids the new recruits altogether except for these moment, when Laurent is allowed to unleash his fury upon them. No, he doesn’t always win, but the more experienced soldiers know when to make a good bet, so Laurent always feels a boost of confidence when he can hear them placing bets for him to win.

Makedon will be heading for the border again in a couple of months.

“Three in a row! Haha!” Makedon slaps Laurent’s back, right on his sunburn.

Laurent hisses but is quickly smothered by Makedon’s sweaty, muscular chest. “My boy’s becoming a man!” he cheers.

“Real men drink griva!” someone from the back jeers.

Makedon is clearly on some sort of high from Laurent’s victories because he shouts back, “You’re right! Have the griva prepared!” Makedon picks Laurent up and sits him on his shoulders. Laurent is far too big to be doing this anymore. “Today, Laurent becomes a man!”

Laurent is not looking forward to becoming a man.

* * *

Some of the higher ranked men and Makedon are all sat around a table with Laurent, all with mugs of griva. The rest of the men are sitting around the dining hall with their own mugs. All waiting for Makedon to announce the drinking to commence.

Laurent takes his mug in hand and stares down at the concoction within. Usually the men avoid drinking griva. You can only begin to forgive the taste by the second glass, when all your taste buds have died, or so Laurent has heard.

Makedon throws his first mug back with a smirk and slams it back onto the wooden surface of the table.

“Your turn, boy.”

He’s about to become a man, Laurent thinks to himself as he lifts the mug. He can’t mess this up. He has to prove himself. Laurent puts the cold mug to his lips, tips, and drinks.

It burns the whole way down, the smell stings his nose and his eyes, and he feels fuzzy the second it hits his stomach. Laurent slams the mug down on the table when he’s finished, like Makedon had, and wipes his fist over his lips to clear the liquid away.

A moment of silence, probably to see if he’ll throw it back up, so Laurent keeps his face as blank as he can. Then the hall erupts in cheers. That’s when the drinking commences. Makedon has more griva poured for himself and water for Laurent. Laurent is thankful for that.

Isander is kneeling by Laurent’s seat. Makedon’s one rule. Well, one of two, but the other is irrelevant right now. Isander is to fall back on his training when Laurent is in ‘polite’ company. Makedon considers this polite company.

Laurent doesn’t think he’ll be allowed to leave this for a time, so he taps Isander’s shoulder. Normally this would mean that a master planned to claim their slave that night, but with Laurent and Isander, it simply means he is dismissed. It is so Laurent can spare Isander from having to wait on Laurent’s every need or kneeling on the hard floors.

Isander rises, always so graceful, and bows as he exits the room, only turning his back on them once he’s out the door. Makedon watches them, his eyes narrowed. Laurent is sure Makedon has caught onto their little system by now.

Laurent grins at Makedon then sips his water, hoping he’ll forgive Laurent.

The smile Makedon gives him in return looks defeated, and resigned, but a smile is a smile, so Laurent takes it.

* * *

Makedon thought Laurent too young for this conversation, but now he wonders if he’s too late in giving it.

Laurent comes into the library and sits in his usual seat across from Makedon at their chess table, and the slave curls up on the couch under the window. Laurent’s brows are pinched, his lips pursed. “You called for me?”

Makedon passes a hand over his face, giving his beard a good tug. “Yes.”

Laurent straightens in his seat, face falling neutral, but Makedon can see the spark of worry in his eyes. “Did I do something…?”

Makedon sighs. He was not prepared for this conversation. “Laurent, I saw you tap your slave’s shoulder. You’ve done this before.”

Laurent shifts. The slave doesn’t move, acts as though he isn’t listening, and is easily forgotten. Or would be, if this conversation did not also pertain to him. At least Laurent hasn’t broken him of that part of his training.

“Yes,” Laurent agrees.

It’s as Makedon had thought. “Laurent,” Makedon tries, then struggles for the right words. It is one thing to speak crass with his men about the people they’ve slept with, but his boy is another. “I know you and the slave are close, and I will not stop you from being together if that is what you choose, but there are some things you should understand, lest one or both of you get hurt.”

Laurent gives a slow nod, his brows drawn and head at the slightest tilt.

Makedon takes a breath. He folds his hands together and places them on the table between he and Laurent. “When men have sex—" Laurent jolts in his chair across from Makedon. “They need to—”

Laurent slams his hands on the table. “No. No, no, no. That is _not_ what Isander and I were doing.”

Makedon is almost relieved. He was ill prepared for this conversation. But that begs the question, “Then what _were_ you doing?”

“I was dismissing Isander,” he explains, exasperated.

“Dismissing.” Makedon raises a brow.

“Yes, dismissing. As in, I let him return to our rooms without me.”

Brat’s always had a smart mouth on him, he thinks with a repressed smirk. Makedon stands. He’s spent too long fretting over this conversation and now he can put it off for another year or so. Laurent is growing into a handsome young man, Makedon is sure it will be sooner than later; once the boy gets his head out of the books and notices the other’s around him, Makedon will be chasing off every one of them.

Laurent collects the slave and they begin to walk out after that. Except Laurent calls back, “Besides. I read. I know what to do.”

That gives Makedon pause. “What sort of books have you been reading, boy?”

Laurent laughs as they leave.

Makedon is not as amused.

* * *

Laurent and Isander are laying out in the sun and are supposed to be cloud watching, but Laurent is staring at the new stable boy. He’s good with the horses, and Laurent’s mare likes him well enough. She’s calmer with him than she is with the other stable hands. He’s nice to Laurent too, but that’s in the job description at this point in their lives.

Anyone unwilling to work with a ‘Veretian’ in their midst is found leaving the premises without a job.

Laurent is tired of being looked at as different, treated as different. He is Akielon. The king himself gave Laurent citizenship. If that is not enough, then nothing ever will be. Laurent cannot change his heritage.

The stable boy is just two years older than Laurent. He has little skill with a sword, maybe a little more with a bow, but he knows horses. Makedon had hired him on when he came looking for work. They gain more horses every year with the new wave of recruits, stable hands are always welcome.

He cuts the cords on a bale of hay, wipes sweat from his brow, then looks over. Laurent blushes at being caught staring, and blushes more when the stable boy smiles.

Laurent tries to return it, but he’s embarrassed, and turns away quickly after.

Isander is still looking up at the clouds. His fingers are tugging at the grass.

“Isander?”

“Yes?” Voice soft, mind elsewhere.

“Are you happy?”

Isander turns to look at Laurent. He meets his eyes. Isander only dares when they are assuredly alone. “Of course Master.” Isander’s fingers reach, hesitantly, and touch Laurent’s own. “If I may…Are you happy?”

Laurent stares into the dark depths of Isander’s eyes. They’re the same color as his dark hair. The same color as Tryphosa’s were.

Laurent wraps his fingers around Isander’s and turns back to the clouds. “I don’t know.”

Isander squeezes his hand.

* * *

Makedon is at his desk, going over reports from the border. With Vere at war with Vask, the number of skirmishes has dropped significantly. Vere has made only small moves against Vask, gained no territory, and accomplished nothing.

Makedon cannot make heads or tails of it. His scouts believe the war is drawing to an end, but their information is limited, and their Vaskian contacts, few before, are nonexistent with the country at war.

Makedon settles back in his chair and sighs.

“Papa?”

Makedon looks over at the door to his room where Laurent lingers, half in but hesitating.

Makedon beckons him to enter.

Laurent does so, his slave trailing after, and he closes the door.

“Papa, I was wondering if we could go camping.”

Laurent has never been camping, not truly. Only when they were traveling and it took more than one day to get from one point to another. And Laurent himself had been too young to participate in any of the activities around them. He’s never seemed interested in doing so either.

Makedon turns so he’s facing his boy completely. “Who is _we_?”

Laurent glances over his shoulder at the slave, standing silently by the door and looking at the floor. He looks back at Makedon, resolve in his eyes. He gets that same look when he’s calculated a winning move in a fight. “You and me.”

Makedon stands up, and cracks his back with a grunt. “When were you thinking about going?”

He and Laurent walk over to the chairs he has in his main chamber, and Makedon pours them wine. Laurent waters his down. Boy’s allowed to drink now, but he waters everything down. He says he doesn’t care for the feeling it leaves in his stomach, but Makedon is sure he’ll grow used to it with time.

Laurent gives a little tug at his necklace, a new habit Makedon noticed the boy’s developed. “I know you’re busy training the recruits so they’ll be ready to head out in a couple months. Maybe we should wait until after that?”

Makedon’s back is aching from sitting for so long. He feels old. He’s only thirty-two. He shouldn’t feel like this at thirty-two. “If you want to wait that long, sure. Or we could take a vacation and leave at the end of the week.”

Laurent’s eyes sparkle at the offer, but he dims the light, controls himself. He’s been doing that a lot lately, working to keep himself composed at all times. Makedon wonders if it’s to keep up with the older boys, so he looks more mature than he is.

“If it wouldn’t cause trouble, I’d prefer that.”

Makedon hides a smile behind his glass and takes a sip of his wine. “I’ll make the arrangements then. What of your slave?” Makedon gestures to the slave with his chin.

Laurent evidently already has an answer prepared. “He is free to roam the areas we discussed in my rooms. No one is to touch him while I am gone. Should he break any rules, they are to be reported to me upon my return and I will address them accordingly and to my own discretion.”

Makedon blinks. Laurent really planned that one out, huh?

“What are the agreed upon areas?”

“The stables, and my mare in particular. The yard, as long as he stays clear of the men’s training. The common areas of the fort, the library and kitchens and such. And my rooms, obviously.”

Makedon hums and crosses his arms. “So, your usual haunts.”

Laurent smiles a little, barely. “Yes.”

“You say the slave can have access to your horse. What will you ride if your horse is here?”

Laurent fingers his coin, his eyes averted. “I was thinking of taking Mama’s mare on the trip,” Laurent mutters, almost whispers. “She hasn’t had a proper ride in a very long time.”

Well. Makedon looks over at the slave who seems to shrink under his gaze, even with his eyes on the floor. Makedon grunts. “The slave’s never caused any trouble, so I couldn’t very well tell you no.” Makedon heaves a put-upon sigh. “I suppose as long as he doesn’t disturb the stable staff or the soldiers, he’s free to follow your orders.”

Laurent beams. “Thanks Papa!” He hugs Makedon.

Makedon is stunned for only a second before he wraps his arms around Laurent and holds him close. Laurent hasn’t hugged him in a long time. Sure Makedon has hugged Laurent, but the reverse has not been true in years. Laurent only ever seems to touch the slave or his opponents willingly.

Laurent pulls away and Makedon forces himself to let go.

Laurent and his slave leave the room, with Laurent babbling about what he’ll need to pack and that he’ll need to sharpen his blade and find his hunting bow.

Laurent has never in his life used his hunting bow, Makedon thinks, incredulous. But, he supposes, it’s never too late for the boy to learn.

* * *

“You have to act quick, but with precision,” Makedon instructs.

Laurent has his bow in hand, a practice arrow pointed at a carved mark in the tree twenty paces away from them.

They’ve set up camp, secured the horses to a fallen log, prepared a pit for the fire they’ll set when the sun goes down, and now they’re practicing for their hunt tonight.

“Now!”

Laurent startles at the sudden command and shoots the arrow off into the distance, well off from the tree. Crap.

Makedon chuckles behind him. Because of course he does, he clearly did that on purpose. Laurent grabs another arrow from his quiver and aims again. He stops breathing and looses the arrow.

He misses the bullseye, but he hits the tree.

He sees he was aiming too high and pulls out another arrow.

He continues like this for a time, and Makedon watches silently from behind him, allowing Laurent to learn for himself. Makedon told Laurent what he needs to know, now it is up to Laurent to properly execute.

The next three hit the target but not the center. The fourth one does.

“Good,” Makedon says, heading down to collect the arrows. One less than he started with, for it is gone within the wilderness. “Now head back twenty paces.”

Laurent does, excitement racing through his veins. He’s getting it!

Laurent spends his day practicing while Makedon makes some rabbit traps. They don’t need big game; they’re only out here for a week and it is only the two of them to feed, but should no game present itself, falling back on the rabbit traps could save them from starvation or an early trip home.

Laurent and Makedon haven’t spent time together like this in a very long time. Laurent wonders why he hadn’t thought to offer something like this sooner. Makedon had seemed too busy to bother with a trip, and with Isander being too shy to leave alone, Laurent doesn’t think he would have been confident enough to leave him by himself before now.

Isander had assured Laurent that he would be fine, that everyone knew Laurent was his master, and that everyone was well aware of Isander’s boundaries and allowances. Laurent just wanted Isander to be safe within their home. Without Laurent to protect him, Isander would be left without anyone as a buffer between him and the rest of Karthas.

Laurent worries still, but he is here now, without Isander, and he will just have to wait until his return to see how his friend has fared.

Makedon returns from laying his traps and Laurent gives him a nod of acknowledgement. They’ll be setting out soon to hunt, Laurent’s _first_ hunt, and then their camping trip will have truly begun.

* * *

They caught some fair game, but mostly relied on the rabbit traps. Laurent did not enjoy the lack of bathing, but everything else about the trip had been enjoyable. Laurent is over the moon with how much fun they’d had.

Isander is in the stable waiting by the stalls when they return. He smiles bright and Laurent hops off his mother’s mare to pull him into a hug.

Laurent cups Isander’s face in both his hands, still a few inches shorter, and asks, “Were you okay without me?”

Isander smiles, beautiful as a flower, and nods. “Thank you for your concern Master,” Isander says. “How was your trip?”

Makedon cuts Isander a look at that, and Laurent realizes Isander spoke out of turn. Isander realizes it too, for he goes pale and drops his head, hands joining behind his back. The cute stable boy comes up and takes Tryphosa’s mare to her stall, and Laurent uses the time to escape.

“Come. Let’s head to my room.”

Laurent takes Isander’s hand and leads them away.

Isander whispers quietly to him as they go, “I’m sorry, Master.”

Laurent’s heart clenches.

* * *

Makedon knows he should send the slave back to renew his training, knew it years ago when the thought first occurred to him. But after the week he’d had with Laurent, he doesn’t dare think to send away his son’s only confidant.

The boys will need to be more careful in the company of others. The slave cannot forget his place, for in the wrong place, in front of the wrong people, Laurent may have his slave, his friend, taken from him.

And Makedon might have no say to stop what happens after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Send the artist some love! Because their work! Is beautiful!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And our fabulous conclusion to this portion of the story!

With the war with Vask a year over, the border skirmishes have picked up once more, and with a vengeance. Makedon had to return to the border. He left Laurent in the hands of his tutors and trainers. An official sword trainer and archery trainer. He’s reached the age that he should work on perfecting those skills, since he’s shown promise with both.

Laurent’s riding is his own, but those lessons have also been enforced by the horse master.

Makedon trusts that his boy is in the best of hands while he is away.

* * *

Laurent is busy working through a thorough thrashing against a straw dummy, his trainer standing at his back and watching, adjusting Laurent’s stance with a sharp whack of a stick when necessary, when a rider is announced.

Laurent wipes the sweat from his brow then is brought to the rider, since he is current head of the household. “Prince Kastor is arriving.”

Laurent straightens. It’s been a very long time since he’s been in the presence of the royal family. With Makedon at the border and Prince Kastor’s surprise arrival, Laurent can only assume this is not a social call.

Laurent mounts his mare, bareback, and races out to meet the prince.

Prince Kastor has a small retinue of men with him. Laurent joins his Prince, just lagging behind the man, as is etiquette with royalty. “A pleasure, my Prince,” he greets. “What brings you to Karthas?”

Prince Kastor has never shown much taste for Laurent, and now is no different. “My father wishes to speak with Makedon.”

Laurent’s brows draw together. “I apologize my Prince, but my father is at the border. The skirmishes have grown more frequent and required his attention.”

Prince Kastor nods his head. “We thought as much. He will need to be called back.”

“He’s a day’s ride to the northeast. I’ll send men as soon as we arrive at Karthas,” Laurent acquiesces.

And Laurent does. Prince Kastor and his men’s horses are boarded within the stables and Laurent rides out to the men running laps. He calls two out of the line and requests that they ride for the border and retrieve his father.

“On the orders of Prince Kastor,” Laurent tells them.

The steward sees about showing Prince Kastor to their nicest guest room and a slave is sent to show the men to the barracks. Laurent finds Isander waiting by Laurent’s mare’s stall. “Master,” he greets. His head is down and there is a quirk to his lips.

Laurent dismounts and pulls Isander into the stall after him. Isander looks confused.

Laurent pulls Isander into a hug; he’s finally catching up to Isander in height. To the untrained eye, they look like nothing more than young lovers; privacy will be permitted. Laurent whispers into Isander’s ear. “You must act the part of slave while Prince Kastor is here. Should he find any flaw in your act, he could order you punished, and I will have no power to stop him,” Laurent warns. He squeezes his eyes shut. “You know I would never ask this of you if I did not worry for you.”

Isander nods against Laurent’s shoulder. “I trust you, Master.”

Laurent pets Isander’s hair, short as the day Laurent first met him.

Isander gives Laurent a smile when they part, then ducks his head down and keeps it there.

Laurent enters the fort after that, Isander trailing at a respectful distance after him.

* * *

Makedon greets Prince Kastor and Laurent outside Karthas a few days after that, a wagon with their belongings already packed for a trip to the capital. Laurent hugs him, a quick squeeze. “Welcome back Papa. I’m glad you kept safe.”

Makedon plants a kiss to the side of Laurent’s head. “Of course.”

They ride out after that. Makedon doesn’t tell Laurent about the arrow he took to his side a few weeks ago. He’d been laid up in a sickbed when the soldiers came and reported he was to return to Karthas under Prince Kastor’s orders.

They ride at a slow pace, so his stitches don’t jar at least. He’ll need to have them seen to when he arrives in Ios. He makes conversation. “Did you leave the slave behind?”

Laurent shakes his head, hair loose for a change. He usually keeps it in some form of a braid, depending on the heat and humidity of the day, but there are clouds in the sky and a breeze strong enough to wear it down today. “Isander is in the wagon.”

Makedon nods. “How is your sword training?”

“I am not fit for a long sword. We learned that the hard way, though in hindsight that feels obvious.”

Kastor snorts in front of them, and Laurent smirks a little, then squashes the reaction.

Makedon wishes he wouldn’t do that, but Laurent grew up around men’s men, and was forced to catch up or be left behind. When he was young, it was fine, brought a variety to his soldiers’ lives, but as he grew, they expected him to behave more like them. They didn’t have time for children anymore.

“And your archery?”

“I can hit the target from fifty yards,” Laurent says, nonchalant, as though that is not a feat for someone of his age. “It’s not yet a bullseye, but it will be.”

Makedon barks a laugh. His boy’s always been cocky, and it isn’t unwarranted either. He’s proven himself time and again.

“Your racing?”

Laurent smiles then, a small and private thing. He pets his mare’s neck. He never got around to naming her. Makedon thought he might name her Willow at one point, but it hadn’t stuck and he hadn’t tried again after. “We’re nearly the fastest on the field. Barely. We’re working on it.”

“You’d be faster if you used a whip.”

Laurent shakes his head, always so stubborn. “We don’t need it.”

His mare snorts and bounces on her front legs. Laurent smiles again.

“What about your studies?”

Laurent goes silent then, and avoids Makedon’s eyes. Boy still can’t lie to his papa. “They are well.”

Makedon hums. He strikes up a conversation with Kastor after that, a smirk on his lips. Laurent is fooling no one. Makedon would not be surprised to return and find Laurent has been focused on subjects other than the ones he’s been instructed to study.

* * *

The throne room has changed not at all since the last time Laurent was here, except for the people inside are now nearly a decade older. Prince Kastor walks up and takes his place at his father’s left, Prince Damianos stands to his father’s right. King Theomedes sits on his thrown.

Isander had fallen to his knees and prostrated himself as soon as he had stepped into the room. Laurent and Makedon both take a knee before their King.

As a respected general and close friend to King Theomedes, Makedon is free to rise after. Laurent, however, must be bid to rise.

Laurent waits, fist over his heart and head bowed, eyes on the marble floor before his sandaled foot. Laurent’s face is carefully blank, but he thinks even his King is testing his loyalty in this small way. Makedon moves out of Laurent’s minimal view. And Laurent waits.

And he waits.

“Rise, boy.”

Laurent rises, and he does so with leisure and grace guiding his motions. He will not let a single man in this room think he is in any hurry to stand once again. “My King,” Laurent says, head still bowed and voice clear.

When Laurent looks up, Makedon’s eyes are the first he catches. He looks displeased, but not at Laurent. At Laurent having to kneel for so long. At King Theomedes.

“Dismissed,” King Theomedes says.

Laurent bows again and backs away to the door, knowing it is rude for Laurent to turn his back on royalty, especially within the throne room. He gathers Isander with him and they leave. Laurent vaguely remembers his way to the library.

* * *

“You know,” Makedon starts after Laurent has left the throne room. “He already has to put up with prejudice with my men. Every year new recruits come to me, hoping to kill Veretians and earn their notched belts, and then they meet Laurent and they think they can push him around.

“I would have thought he would be safe from that within the palace.”

“He is Veretian,” Theomedes says, critical. “He will never be safe within Akielos.”

“He won’t be when even his King treats him as an enemy.” Makedon looks at Theomedes finally, a brow raised in challenge. “Would you be interested in knowing when he was eight he was asking when he’d be allowed to fight at the border? How about that he wanted to know why we couldn’t just take Delpha back?”

Theomedes is silent for only a moment. “And now?”

“There is nothing now. I have already told him no; he has not disrespected my authority by asking again.”

“Would he even be any good on the field?” Theomedes asks, rising from his throne. The princes have been smart in not joining the conversation. They would not be welcome.

“He has shown skill in riding, archery, and the sword. He has an aptitude for strategy as well. He would be an asset, he may even be essential once I’m gone. My army will go to him,” Makedon says pointedly.

Theomedes cuts him a look, his knowing eyes searching.

He looks forward again, the lines in his face more grave than usual. “You are hurt.”

Makedon nods. He ignores the princes looking surprised at this admission. “I took an arrow for a green soldier. It couldn’t be avoided. He may have died otherwise,” Makedon shares. Then he deepens his voice with purpose. “Laurent doesn’t know, and I want to keep it that way.”

Theomedes catches a passing servant. “Have a physician sent to the war room, tell them to be discreet.” When they reach the war room, he tells the guards at the door, “Do not allow entry to anyone but a physician I have had fetched.”

They enter and the doors close heavily behind them.

Theomedes nods to Makedon. “Let’s see it.”

Makedon unstraps his armor and unpins the top of his chiton. The arrow wasn’t deep enough to warrant pushing the rest of the way through, so they’d cut the wound wider and pulled it out. He’d had many salves poured in and on it, many more dressings changed, and when they deemed it ready, stitches.

It wasn’t infected, blessedly. But he would not be ready for war any time soon. Too bad that is exactly what Makedon had been called from the border to discuss.

“You’ll live?” Theomedes asks, tentative. In case he won’t.

Makedon nods. “I’ll live.”

“You cannot fight?”

“Correct.”

The physician arrives then, and she looks only mildly flustered at the summons.

* * *

Laurent spends the day in the library. Isander was taken by some palace slave earlier, with instructions from the king that Isander be cleaned and dressed for dinner. Laurent had no authority to say no.

Isander had given him an assuring smile before he’d left; Laurent had faith that Isander would know what to do and keep himself safe.

He’s curled up on a couch in the back of the library, a romance novel in his hands. It’s his second of the day, and he’s just reaching the climax. Lip tucked between his teeth and eyes wide. The secondhand embarrassment he’s feeling as he reads is probably why he gives the reaction he does.

“Whatcha reading?”

Laurent gives a wholly undignified squeak and jolts in his spot. Laurent peeks over the top of his book to see Prince Damianos leaning against the shelves across from him, a smirk on his lips. He has a dimple.

Laurent buries his face into the book to hide his blush and groans. He can’t believe he got so caught up in this book he hadn’t even realized he had company. “Please don’t tell Papa,” Laurent mumbles into the pages. “He’ll never let me live it down,” he despairs.

Prince Damianos chuckles, and Laurent bites his lips while he’s still hidden. He gathers control of himself by taking a deep breath, then releases.

Laurent closes the book, a finger marking his place. “Have you sought me out for a purpose, my Prince?”

Prince Damianos rights himself then, still smiling easy. “I have actually. Father asked me if I could find you and bring you to the dining hall. Makedon said I’d find you in either the library or the stables.”

Laurent nods and stands. He places the book back where he found it and waits on Prince Damianos to lead the way.

Laurent would let that be that, but he is curious. Why would the king send his son to fetch Laurent? Is that not why they have slaves and servants? To do their menial tasks for them? Why send his heir?

Prince Damianos speaks before Laurent can ask. “We are thinking of going to war with Vere.”

Laurent nods, because he had assumed as much. Vere had been pushing them for many months, and now the beast is going to bite back.

Prince Damianos looks down at Laurent from the corner of his eyes. “How do you feel about that?”

Laurent would bristle, if he wasn’t sure that the prince was looking for that reaction. His words will say what his body will not. “Why? Because I am ‘Veretian’?” Laurent asks, voice tight. “With all due respect my Prince, I am Akielon. _Not_ Veretian.”

Prince Damianos smiles. “Do you have any advice you would share then, if you could join the talks? Makedon praises your strategic mind. He’s particularly loose lipped when he’s a few cups deep into his griva.”

Laurent blushes. He didn’t know Makedon bragged on him when Laurent wasn’t around. Laurent considers what he knows of Vere. “Attacking in summer would be to our advantage. Veretians wear a heavier armor and the heat will cripple their ability to fight. They also rely on the rations of wheat in Delpha, but summer is the dry season in that area. Any wheat spared will go to the livestock inhabiting the area, all other food will be shipped in from deeper in Vere.”

Prince Damianos nods, a thoughtful frown on his face. “The heat and rations hadn’t been brought up during talks today. You make a good point. Thank you, Laurent.” Prince Damianos smiles down at Laurent.

He is nineteen and still not fully grown, but he has over a head of height on Laurent, who is only fourteen.

“Is there anything else?” he asks.

Laurent wonders if it is his place to add this, but he says, “Lives matter. If war can be avoided, it should. Peace can only come if someone is willing to compromise first. We need Delpha, but what good is land if we have no one to fill it?”

Laurent leaves that questions hanging in the air between them. Prince Damianos picks up on this and ventures into a different topic. “I hear you are training with a sword?”

Laurent tilts his head. When had…but then he remembers Makedon apparently talks about him to others, so Prince Damianos knowing this about him isn’t surprising. Laurent nods. “Yes, I have been since I was four, though I was being allowed to win fights back then. My training has become a much more serious matter these last few years.”

Prince Damianos looks amused, and impressed. “Would you be willing to meet me on the training grounds for a demonstration tomorrow then?”

“I mean no disrespect, my Prince, but Papa sets up all my fights. He wants me to be evenly matched. A fight against you would not be a fair match.”

Prince Damianos looks Laurent over after he says this, and Laurent’s face flushes. He doesn’t meet Prince Damianos’ eyes.

Prince Damianos is very attractive, any fool could see that. But Laurent knows even though he is Makedon’s son, even though he is Akielon raised, he is still ‘Veretian’. Even Prince Damianos implied as much mere minutes ago. Laurent will not kid himself or entertain a useless crush. When the cute stable boy turned out to be straight, Laurent had let him go. He will do so again with the prince.

They arrive at the dining hall and Laurent takes his seat beside Makedon, and Isander is kneeling on a pillow by their feet. His face and collarbones are covered in a golden paint. Laurent pets his hair, asking with his eyes if Isander is alright. Isander leans into his touch to convey that he is in fact fine. Laurent smiles down at him.

Laurent sees Prince Damianos watching him, and carefully blanks his face. The prince smiles at him.

Makedon makes a sound beside Laurent, so Laurent looks over to ask him what it is he needs. He’s glaring at Prince Damianos.

Prince Damianos in turn is being watched by his father and some man sitting by his side, of an age with the prince. The man turns his glare on Laurent. An interesting start to the evening.

Makedon has a slave bring out the griva before the meal starts and everyone but Laurent and Makedon groan at the sight. Laurent has had to drink his fair share of griva ever since he ‘became a man’, so this is not unusual for him.

Laurent is just waiting for the day Makedon thinks he’s old enough for a drinking contest between them. No matter the amount of tolerance he builds up, he will never be able to deaden his taste buds to the extent Makedon’s must be.

“Cheers!” Makedon shouts, thrusting his cup into the air and sloshing half the contents onto the table. Laurent can’t help but smile and raise his own cup, knowing someone is going to have to help both of them to their rooms after this meal. The rest of the table, reluctantly, raises their cups as well, then they all chug their griva back.

Makedon laughs and claps Laurent’s back when Laurent finishes. Laurent is smiling at the revelries the room has fallen into. Prince Damianos is still looking at him.

* * *

Makedon ended up spending most the night drunkenly bragging on Laurent, to which Laurent could only blush and ask him to stop, coming off slightly more sober, but he was just as smashed.

Makedon ended up needing two soldiers to carry him to his room, because he nearly crushed the slaves who tried helping him previously.

Laurent stands fine, after bidding the royal family goodnight, and he thinks he may be able to walk back without help, but then his knees buckle and Isander is there holding him up. Laurent’s guest room doesn’t have an extra bed for Isander to sleep on, just a pallet of pillows and silk in the corner. Laurent has Isander sleep in his bed with him; it has more than enough room for the both of them.

* * *

Makedon wakes him up far too early the next morning, ignores Laurent’s complaining of a hangover, and drags Laurent and Isander out to the training grounds. The sun has barely touched the sky, yet Laurent is out running laps.

His headache is not better, but the sun is up and he’s adjusted to having it. Makedon has Laurent gather his bow and some practice arrows and demonstrate hitting the target from fifty yards. Makedon sets up three of them. Laurent stretches his arms a bit then picks up his bow, aims, and looses the arrow. He hits all three, reasonably close to the bullseye. If it had been a person, he would have hit them.

Laurent is on his second trip back from the targets when he notices that Makedon is talking with Prince Damianos and his friend Nikandros, the man who had glared at Laurent the night before. Laurent catches Makedon’s eye, and regrets it. “You can take a break when you hit the inner ring on two of the targets!” he calls to Laurent.

Laurent takes up his place and aims, feeling a little spiteful. He will just have to hit the inner ring on two of the targets then, won’t he?

Laurent fires, hears the whistle, then the thump. He aims again, hears the whistle, and is already aiming his next arrow before the thump of the last one. He fires.

Laurent carries all three targets back to Makedon, petty. He interrupts the conversation about the conditions of Karthas by dropping all three targets before Makedon. Two inner rings, and a bullseye.

Makedon smirks as Laurent grumbles, “I’m going for a ride. I’ll be back in an hour,” then leaves with Isander.

* * *

Once Laurent is back from his ride, feeling refreshed and in a more approachable mood, Makedon has Laurent practice his sword work with sparring matches.

They aren’t so different from the ones back at Karthas. Laurent is set against even odds, he wins, he gathers a crowd, there is betting, Laurent wins some more. He loses too, sure, but they aren’t easily lost. And Makedon will turn down anyone too excited to fight the ‘Veretian’.

The sun is high in the sky when Makedon finally lets Laurent rest. Lunch, then a horse ride, then Laurent will be back on the grounds.

Laurent looks over the yard, water skin still to his lips, and sees Prince Damianos and his friend by the wall lining the grounds. The prince is smiling and smearing oil over his bare skin, his friend is frowning and doing the same. He would look cuter if he smiled, Laurent thinks.

Laurent flinches when Prince Damianos looks over and catches his eye. He raises a dripping hand. “Laurent!” he beckons.

Laurent hands Isander the skin and tells him to drink up if he is thirsty. Isander sneaks a small sip while Laurent is blocking him from view. Laurent gives him a quick smile then heads for the prince.

They have their chitons thrown on a table to the side, where the oils for wrestling are kept.

Prince Damianos is still smiling. “Do you finally have a break?” he jokes.

“I have an hour and a half for lunch and a ride,” Laurent returns, completely serious.

The prince’s smile drops a bit, grows a little tighter. “Makedon keeps you on a tight leash, huh?”

Nikandros shoves his elbow into Prince Damianos’ side when he says that. They glare at each other for a moment, as though Laurent isn’t watching them do this.

“Papa is only doing what my trainers would have me doing,” Laurent defends. Makedon only has Laurent’s best interests at heart. Plus, Laurent is having fun. He enjoys the activities, and most his evenings are free for him to do as he pleases.

“Do you know how to wrestle?” Prince Damianos asks, getting to his point.

Laurent frowns, because the answer to that should be obvious. He looks down at himself. “I’m too small to wrestle. I’d be on my back in a second flat.”

With a blush, Laurent thinks he wouldn’t mind if Prince Damianos was the one to pin him. Laurent banishes the thought from his head, viciously. Those are the last thoughts he should be having right now.

“Do you want to watch us?” Prince Damianos asks.

“He’s going to eat and then he’s going for his ride,” Makedon answers for Laurent, coming up behind him.

Laurent looks up, his head bumping into Makedon’s chest, just like back when he was little and had to share a saddle with Makedon. Laurent smiles, reminiscent. Makedon looks down at him, then smirks.

“Off you go brat,” he shoos.

Laurent sticks his tongue out at Makedon, but he leaves, bowing his head to Prince Damianos before he goes.

* * *

Makedon glares at Damianos as Laurent heads to collect his slave. Damianos’ eyes flicker to Laurent for only a moment before they meet Makedon’s, then he shrinks back from the threat he sees within their dark depths.

“I’ve seen your harem, boy,” Makedon spits. “You keep away from my son.”

Damianos opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He nods. “Yes, sir.” The boy is arrogant, but he knows when to hold his tongue, at least with men who hold sway with his father the way Makedon does.

Makedon turns to Nikandros. “How was the kingsmeet?”

* * *

Theomedes announces that the armies are to be gathered. That they are going to war with Vere. The campaign will take about two months, so Laurent, Isander, and Makedon head back to Karthas to prepare his soldiers for holding the border.

Makedon and the steward are walking the grounds, Laurent and Isander following after them.

“Really all that should be left is a skeleton staff to maintain the fort. All the men, stable hands, and most of the slaves will be heading for the border,” Makedon says when they’ve covered who all will be going.

Isander is gripping Laurent’s hand.

* * *

Prince Damianos walks up to Laurent while everyone else is mounting their horses. A flurry of activity to gather tents and set out on the king’s order.

“I will remember your advice. We cannot have peace unless someone is willing to compromise first,” Prince Damianos recites. “You are wise beyond your years.”

Laurent leans closer, and the prince realizes the next words are meant secret. “Their queen is sick. She has been for a few months now, so says word. Aleron is frantic, but I hear the crown prince is anxious to return to his mother.”

Prince Damianos nods, an understanding between two men who have lost their own mothers, and then he must be off.

Laurent watches as the king and his men gather up and get ready to head for the border, taking Makedon with them. Laurent had allowed Isander to remain in bed; he hadn’t looked very excited to see all the men ride off. Laurent wonders if maybe there’s a particular soldier on his mind.

Makedon stops by his horse and turns to look at Laurent. He opens his arms. Laurent runs into them and hugs Makedon, but he refuses to cry. His father will be fine. He’ll return home within a few months’ time, victorious and boasting of his battles. Drinking too much griva and bragging on his men. Safe and sound.

Makedon pulls away and tips Laurent chin up, smiling down at him. “I’ll be back. I promise.” His eyes trail down, and he taps Laurent’s necklace coin. “We’ll get you a new claps when I do. This one is getting old, yes?”

Laurent nods, taking the promise that he’ll return and keeping it as close to his heart as his coin rests. “Don’t get yourself killed out there.”

Makedon laughs, then ruffles Laurent hair, loose from its usual braid. “You’re a brat.”

Laurent squeezes one more time, for the road. “I love you, Papa.”

Makedon cups the back of Laurent’s head and plants a kiss to his messed-up hair. “I love you too, Laurent. I’ll write to you.”

“You better.”

After that, the men all ride out, a thunder of hoof beats following in their wake.

Laurent stands in the yard long after they’re gone.

He looks around himself, at no one around him.

Laurent clutches his necklace coin. He’s never felt so alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, check out the artwork for this story! It's so beautiful!  
> https://thalassicthedes.tumblr.com/post/183532592024/almost-all-my-artwork-for-papa-by


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